Story of a Girl

Eight Years Later

2010-09-11T03:07:00.000-07:00

8 years have passed.

"Whoever said it gets easier as time goes on lied."

The memories aren't as accessible as they were at first. It's harder to recall exactly how we felt, what thoughts went through our minds as we learned of the tragedy that was unfolding in New York City, at the Pentagon, and in a field in Pennsylvania. It's not so hard to remember all the people who lost their lives that day, though. They're impossible to forget.

"For the moment, your husband and father's name is on someone's mind and lips."

Ruben D. Correa, known as 'Dave' to friends and family, died 8 years ago today at the World Trade Center. He was a firefighter with Engine Company 74 in the upper west side of New York, and he gave his life to save another.

"You are an angle, a hero to all, but to me you are just my dad."

He was a husband to Susan, a father to 3 girls named Yvette, Stefanie, and Brittani. He was an uncle, a cousin, a Marine, a friend, a godfather. And he is missed.

"While it still feels like a dream, I hear your name being called and that makes it all the more real."

There are messages, prayers, and offers of gratitude from all over the world on Dave's memorial page. His daughter keeps him updated on family news through her messages. She told her father about her marriage after his death, and her husband left a message to his father-in-law as well. She announced the birth of her 3 children over the last 8 years, and her sister's pregnancy. She said that she knew her father would be happy to finally have grandsons after raising his girls. Her messages are often filled with apologies and regrets, but mostly she just wishes her dad was still here.

So many things have changed over the last 8 years, but one thing is still the same. Dave is still in their thoughts, and he will be for the rest of their lives. He still guides his friends and family, and they still remember him.

"The sound [of your laughter] is fading in my head, but I want to keep it in my heart."

His daughters make sure his grandchildren know him through their memories. They spend occasional evenings watching home videos, reliving happy moments with Dave and refreshing their memories of the man who meant so much to them. Keeping him in their hearts is the only substitute for having him here.

In 44 years, Dave affected so many lives.

"There was no room for us to enter [your funeral] so I cried outside."

He was just doing his job that morning. No one imagined that two planes would hit the World Trade Center that day, that nearly 3,000 people would die. But they are all heroes.

"All I could remember was when Sue called the house and said 'Please find Dave.' "

There's no need to find him. He's always in your hearts.

This blog is part of Project 2996, a memorial to all the victims of 9/11. Please click here to read about the other heroes who lost their lives that day.

Sources:

http://terroristattack.com/messages.php?id=552
9-11heroes.us/v/Ruben_D_Correa.php
legacy.com/gb2/default.aspx?bookid=5708011640393

Why didn't this shit ever happen when I was single?

2010-05-21T00:12:00.001-07:00

The other night, I got the coolest voicemail EVER.

And I'll tell ya, I know a lot about cool voicemails. I leave them all the time. At least, I used to before I stopped using the phone for anything other than ordering food...

I checked my missed calls list and saw a random number. Thinking it was probably just an old friend who I'd deleted, I listened to the message. I should have saved it so I could quote it word for word, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead.

"I just called to tell you that I totally called the wrong number, but you sound really hot and I'd like to get to know you better."

Dana can confirm that one for you. I have a voice designed for phone sex hotlines, apparently.

He went on for a couple more minutes about how hot I sounded, and that I should get a hold of him. The more he talked, the more drunk he sounded.

But damn if my ego didn't grow two sizes that day...

It's just nice to be reminded by someone other than the guy who is legally required to tell me I'm hot on a regular basis that I am, in fact, hot. And hearing it from the boys at work doesn't count-- they're all pretty fucking desperate.

And then? Tonight? Like half an hour ago?

I got a random IM from one of my exes. Most of you were around for my Caterpillar blogs, and I introduced him there. I usually refer to him as "the bad one." That kid was the biggest waste of my fucking life for damn near 3 years, but I was completely unable to pull myself away from him. Then I finally realized that he sucked just as much as everyone said he did, and I finally got the balls to be done with him.

Me? Needing to get some balls? Unheard of!

I swear, it happened. There was a point when I didn't have balls. It was a sad, terrible time, and one day there will probably be History Channel documentaries about it.

So anyway. He tried to talk to me a couple months after we broke up, and I blew him off. It's been 4 years since that conversation, and then he IMs me out of the blue tonight. He just wanted to "see how things were going."

Yeah, right. I told him that I just got married, and that I may very well be in NC in a few months. Take that, asshole. I'd like to say that I took the high road and hoped the best for him, but you've all met me before. I hope he's sitting there at his computer screen in a daze, berating himself for every detrimental thing he ever said to me, for every time he ever made me feel like shit. I hope he cries himself to sleep and wakes up knowing that no matter what, he'll never amount to anything more than a lonely, pathetic asshole who no girl in her right mind could EVER care about.

Was that too harsh?

It kinda feels good to be "the one who got away..."

And I'm so glad I'm married to Brad and not that asshole.

I was on a journey...

2010-05-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

I made a late night run to Walmart. As usual. That place just sucks during normal people hours. Not that it doesn't suck all the time, but normal people hours are the worst.

(FYI: Normal people hours= any time before midnight, usually.)

I understood why there are people out there who always carry a camera.

First, I saw a sign outside a salon. It said, and I quote (halfassedly): "Tired of summer frizz? Brazilian Blowout!"

Really? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't a Brazilian something for your lady parts? I've never noticed mine to get more frizzy in the summer... And I gotta say, that isn't the best advertising strategy for frizzy hair OR waxes.

Then, I saw new diapers at Walmart. No, I was not diaper shopping myself. They just happened to be next to the shoes. I am not, nor do I plan to be in the near future, knocked up.

On with my point.

These diapers? They were made to look like jeans. For those poor folk out there who can't afford to dress their kids. Or are just too damn lazy to do it. Was this invention really necessary? Or is Huggies just hard up for sales? Jeez.

Then I saw a guy I used to work with. I noticed that he disappeared one day, but I didn't know his name so I couldn't ask about him. I figure, once you get past the first conversation without getting introductions out of the way, it's too late to ask. You just have to wait and hope that you hear someone say their name. I suppose you could ask them how to spell it, but you kinda blow your cover if they say "B-O-B" or something equally simple. So, I had an entire let's-catch-up conversation with a guy whom I talked to on a daily basis for a year and I still don't know his name.

And that was my excitement for the evening. Woot.

As a side note, Haley Joel Osment was much cooler before he hit puberty.

Seriously, people?

2010-05-15T01:43:00.000-07:00

I could've sworn something happened today that was blog-worthy... but no, it didn't. Just more work. Can I just mention that I never want to see another clipper EVER again? I swear, at least 99 times a day I consider hanging myself with a clipper cord. Not that I wish annihilation on the company I work for, but couldn't we just run short on parts for 1 week? Preferably the week before Memorial Day so I don't get in trouble for taking that Friday and Saturday off? Please?

Ok, enough about that.

So, I have a question. It's mostly for the boys, although I know none of them will give me a serious answer. See, the hubby is constantly afraid that I'm going to leave him. I know my "get the fuck away from me" attitude that I have a lot of the time doesn't help that, but jeez. I was like that before we got married. As I've explained a million times, it's nothing against him. It's the fact that he's people and he's on my planet. However, it seems like every time we get a chance to talk for more than a few minutes, I spend it reassuring him that I'm not going to fucking leave him.

I gotta tell ya, this shit got old a while ago.

Marriage isn't a temporary thing for me. I made the commitment knowing that it's forever, good and bad, all that jazz. But he seems to think that I'm every other female on the face of the fucking planet. Really? I just don't know how to reassure him that I'm not going anywhere. I tell him, I'm completely honest with him about everything, we have yet to argue, but he still thinks I'm just here for now.

So how do I make him believe that I love him? He knew exactly how I was before we got married, yet now he wants to be everything I'm not. I'm not a nympho, or one of those dumb whores whose status updates are always about "my man." I don't spout out my feelings to him every day because it's just not who I am. But really? This coddling bullshit I have to do every other fucking day is getting fucking ridiculous.

Any suggestions?

Soooo....

2010-05-14T02:13:00.000-07:00

I have absolutely nothing to say. I'd like to think that the best blogs start out that way, but that just isn't the case. I mean, really. Who wants to read the completely incoherent thoughts of some random person over the internet? And to make things worse, my computer is being a cranky little bitch. It acts like it's the one working 60 hours a week...

Oh yeah, did I mention that? 60. Fucking. Hours. Every week. No end in sight. I know, I know, I should be thankful to even have a job right now. Hell, that's why I go in. But seriously? This shit is bananas!

*B-A-NA-NA-S*

I'd apologize for the fact that you're going to have that song stuck in your head all day, but I'm not sorry :D

Anyway. I need to get back into the swing of blogging. Just writing in general, really. I don't have time to write my story about the baseball player and the stripper (it'll be good, I promise), so blogging every day will have to do. Only problem is, I have nothing to write about other than building clippers and being a newlywed.

I won't assault you with blogs about how I burnt dinner, oops!, mostly because I don't have time to cook. And, even if I did, I wouldn't burn it. I'm a goddess at the stove. As long as the package has directions, that is. Wanna hear about my diaphragm instead? Did I even spell that right?

Yeah. Pain in the ass. I mean, vagina. When I went to get fitted for it, the doctor wasn't even sure he'd be able to find a kit since it had been so long since he last used it. But he did, and now I have non-hormonal birth control that has a 16% failure rate. Awesome. And I have to drown it in spermicide, stick it in my hoo-ha (no more than an hour before intercourse, mind you!), and then remember to take it out later. Not immediately, oh no. Optimum time frame? 6-8 hours later. I suppose that makes sense. Have sex, go to sleep, and then take it out when you get up in the morning. Or early afternoon, in my case. Good times. And then it takes not one but TWO fingers to get it out, and I'm always still a little sore, and ooooooooooh, ouch, and no wonder I never want to have sex anyway.

Is anyone still reading?

So yeah. Life is boring. I'm happy, though. At least, I think I am. I dunno. Life is drama-free and same ol', same ol' all the time, and that's what I wanted. I knew boredom was going to be part of it. I have a husband who worships the ground I walk on, who's afraid that I'll leave him if he breathes the wrong way, and who would fuck me all day long if he could. That's how it's supposed to be, right? Then why I am already questioning whether or not I did the right thing?

Oh yeah. It's because this whole marriage thing hasn't sunk in yet. It's been 2 months, and we were only together 5 months before that. It all went so fast, and I was just looking for a reliable fuckbuddy when I met him. I'm still getting used to the fact that he's not the "strong silent type" like guys are supposed to be, and that he just wants to be with me constantly. I haven't had a day to myself in waaaaaaaaaay too long. I need that time to recharge, to get my bearings again, to blog about stupid shit that is totally irrelevant to everybody else.

But no. I get one day a week to not be at work, and he has decided that MY one day belongs to him.

It's so hard to be understood as an introvert. That, hopefully, will be the most retarded statement in this blog. But seriously? He just doesn't realize that I need to be completely, 100% alone every now and then. Otherwise, every little thing gets fucking annoying and I want to shoot a fucker in the fucking face. But I can't, because then I'd have to go to jail, and I can't fight for anything as far as I know, and I don't want to be some butch dyke's bitch.

Sigh.

We filled out applications for North Carolina jobs the other night. Maybe life will be more exciting there. I can dream, can't I?

Dear Taylor Swift:

2010-04-29T02:35:00.000-07:00

Stop it. Just stop. Seriously, for the sanity of every person who has ever turned on a radio, just fucking quit now.

I hate you. I mean, really hate you. A lot. This goes beyond the average run-of-the-mill hatred one has for a celebrity. With you, it's like I know exactly how you would be in person, and I can see myself stabbing you in the face with an ice pick. That's how much I hate you.

The first time I saw you, I wondered aloud why there was a picture of a porn star on a t-shirt in the middle of Walmart. Go ahead, put in your favorite porn. Is there an anorexic, overly made-up, completely whorish blonde in it? Does she remind you of... you? Exactly. Stop molesting unsuspecting music lovers with your incessant crap and start having sex on camera for money. Need a little practice, you say? Just shove that microphone down your throat. If you happen to get electrocuted in the process, so be it. You'll save yourself the trouble of becoming a 40-something nobody who's still trying to act like she's a teenager.

And also? You're a homewrecking slut. Yeah, I said it. Try to fucking deny it. All of your songs are about how some guy should be with you rather than the girl he's with. Have you ever stopped to think that there's a reason these guys don't want to be with you? Maybe it's because they don't want to take a porn star home to their mothers. Really, though? Go find your own man. Stop trying to break up everyone's relationships just because you're apparently so much more compatible with these guys than their current girlfriends. If you stay on this path, you'll end up being that crazy whore in a hotel bar who "accidentally" drops her room key in front of some unsuspecting businessman. Honestly, each new (I use that term loosely because all your songs are exactly the same) song you come up with makes you sound more and more pathetic. Stop fucking begging for affection. If you were as great as you think you are, you'd either have a man or you'd realize that you don't fucking need one.

I have no idea how you won an entertainer of the year award. I'm guessing it involved a lot of cocksucking. Just saying. I'm at a loss to understand how parents can let their little girls idolize you. Even moreso, I don't get how these parents can put your CDs in and be tortured by the monotone whining that you refer to as your singing voice. You are the epitome of everything girls shouldn't grow up to be. Eventually you'll get old and ugly, and then you won't have anything left to hide the fact that you have no talent at all.

So please, if you have any respect for the world at all, go kill yourself. You could even change your name to something sluttier and start doing porn, although I wouldn't watch anything you were in. I'd rather see you with a dick in your mouth instead of listening to you sing, though. The world has had enough of you and your crappy pseudo-country music. Quit now while you're ahead.

Sincerely,

Toni

Ode to Nicotine

2010-03-04T01:00:00.000-08:00

My Marlboro Lights and I just celebrated our two year anniversary on Valentine's Day. Has it really only been two years? It feels as though my cigarettes have been with me my entire life, there to make it all better when everything just sucks. I spent years convincing myself that I shouldn't smoke. I know that I don't have the willpower to quit. However, I have no desire to quit. At all, whatsoever. I love that first smoke when I wake up, the one that I light as soon as I get into my car after a hectic day at work. I love my 3rd good night cigarette, because one is just never enough. I love inhaling each and every puff, watching the smoke swirl around my head. I love pissing off all the people who don't smoke and made it illegal to smoke in any public place in Illinois. Those bastards...

Most of all, I love that when I get stressed out, when everything is just too much to handle, all I need to do is take a smoke break and then I'm calmer.

Sure, it's a $5 a day habit. It stinks. It requires me to go outside in below zero weather just to get that fix. But ya know? I still love each and every puff. It's hell on my body, but that was the point.

You see, I started smoking to shave a few years off. It was at a time when everything sucked and I just wanted it all to stop. But when I started to freak out because I had no future, no money, almost nothing that meant anything to me, I had my cigarettes. They were there for me. They're a crutch, I know. At least, they were. Now, they're like an old friend. Only more dependable.

I can see myself as one of those old people taking a puff from a cigarette and then a breath from an oxygen tank someday. I'll still enjoy every puff.

We all have to die someday. I might as well enjoy it.

My new favorite thing EVER!

2010-02-02T01:52:00.000-08:00

It's hard for me to admit this. It's like suddenly declaring that George W. Bush was the greatest president ever after my 8 years of hating him and pretty much every decision he ever made. It's like deciding that instead of loving alternative music, I have a newfound addiction to rap.

Ok, it's not as bad as the last one.

There's a new show that I like. I mean, really, really like. As in I DVR it every week and actually watch it the same night.

The show is on MTV.

Therein lies the problem.

The last show I followed on MTV was The Real World: New Orleans. I'm still in love with Matt, by the way. But that's neither here nor there.

After 10 years (I'm so fucking old) of hating MTV and everything it stands for, not to mention the lies within its name, I find myself addicted to one show.

Are you ready for this? This huge announcement that, although nothing to be ashamed of, still makes me quiver at the thought of letting it be known to the world that I LOVE this show?

I've fallen deeply, head-over-heels, no getting over it, in love with My Life as Liz.

She's the underdog, the nerd, the loser. She's the opposite of all the fake bitches she goes to school with. And can I tell you how much I want to punch that Cori Cooper bitch in the face? I hope she gets addicted to coke and ends up whoring herself out someday... soon.

Shut up, it's not like I wished for the trampy, stuck up little 17 year old to die or anything.

Seriously though. Watching this show makes me feel like I'm back in high school again. Not that I want to relive that time, it was fucking horrible, but still. It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one who's life was so unfabulous, for lack of a better non-existent word.

Like tonight? When Liz was talking to Bryson and his girlfriend walked up to them? I've been through that moment before, when everything seems to be going soooooooooo well, and then it all falls apart. The only difference between her life and mine is that I wouldn't have had a huge group of friends waiting to carry me out of the school in celebration of her accomplishment.

I can't wait to see how the rest of Liz's senior year plays out. I want to know what will happen with Bryson, which one of her guy friends is in love with her, whether Taylor will totally quit being so far up Cori's ass, what college Liz will go to, whether or not the show will follow her to college (which would be awesome), all of it. For me, it's like going through high school all over again. Only this time, I understand it all the way Liz does. It's not as hard as I made it out to be, and it's not as hard as she makes it out to be. After watching Liz, I wish I could go back and do it again. This time, I wouldn't waste time trying to be someone I wasn't. I'd be myself, and I'd be proud of it.

It would have been nice to have Liz's strength and sense of self at 17...

If you've lost respect for me due to my enjoyment of an MTV show, so be it. I understand completely. But it you haven't watched My Life as Liz yet, get on it. It's on Monday nights at 9:30 pm central time. You're missing out!!!

And also... I think "effectivity" makes more sense as a word than "effectiveness." Random, I know. Did you expect anything else?

Changing.

2010-01-31T03:35:00.001-08:00

It's official. I'm a grownup. As much as I don't want to be, the change has finally taken place.

Sure, I still have the urge to color (which I fulfill occasionally). Yes, I'm still waiting to get my Barbie Dream Townhouse that I'll play with every day. And I can't resist the call of a swingset. But I'm still an adult, unfortunately.

I think the transformation started 2 years ago. I lost a good job, and there wasn't another one like it around the corner. I spent the better part of a year with absolutely no money, living in an extra bedroom at my grandma's house because my electricity got shut off and I had no means to get it turned on again. I had to scrape together every cent I could just to keep my (rental) house and not get my car repossessed. Then I got my current job, and I slowly caught up. 2009 was a much better year financially. I didn't realize until I was fully caught up on my bills and able to do things I really wanted to that my financial problems had been one of the biggest causes of my bouts with depression.

That phrase is so fucking cliche.

I met the boyfriend in October, just before my birthday. I had resigned myself to staying single until I got to NC, and then he came along. Now, he's looking into getting a job there and I'm worrying about saving money as quickly as possibly so we can there before we have to live through another Illinois winter.

See? Goals.

Then there's the one thing that I never thought would happen. Later today, we're going to look at rings. Yes, those rings. I want this, and I want him. I'm even letting myself get excited about everything. I lost count of all the people who have let me down over the years, and he hasn't. He won't. He's the kind of guy I started looking for when I realized that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't fix every hopelessly heartbroken guy in the world.

Last night, we were sitting on the couch watching TV when I texted a guy friend. He's the boyfriend of a girl I'm no longer friends with, but he's still cool people. We also work together, and my mom works there too. I had to let him know not to mention any of the things we talked about at work to my mom. We sent a few texts back and forth, and the bf asked what was being said. I told him, and I didn't get upset that he was asking me.

See, the bf has been married twice. Both wives cheated on him. He trusts me, and he told me that being able to trust me so easily bothers him. I'm not sure how to explain that one... I understand what he meant, I just can't put it into words.

He apologized for being so suspicious. Really, who cares? I have nothing to hide from him. Yes, this guy friend and I joke around about sex when we talk. Neither of us are serious, or willing to cheat on our significant others. I'd rather explain to the bf who I'm talking to, what our relationship is like, and all that other jazz than have him wonder what I might be up to. He knows that I'm not like the other women he's been with, but they made him suspicious. I can deal with a little curiosity knowing that deep down, he realizes that I only want him.

In 6 weeks, we're going to Las Vegas. More than likely, we'll come back married. My belief has always been that marriage is forever. My parents are married to each other, and they taught me that wedding vows are permanent. Even after a close call last year, they still love each other. I want that. The bf has said that he'll get married one more time, and if it doesn't work out, he's done.

Divorce isn't in my vocabulary. Neither is the l-word, but I'll get to that in another post.

Ya know? This whole adulthood thing isn't so bad.

He's Stealing My Dream

2010-01-07T01:49:00.000-08:00

He came along when I least expected him.

That's how it always works, isn't it?

I had decided that it was best for me to stay single until I got to NC. I didn't want someone else holding me back, and I didn't want to have a reason to even consider staying here. As a matter of fact, just a few days before I met him, I had decided that I needed a dependable fuckbuddy.

But that all went out the window when I met the guy who is everything I've always wanted.

He said he'll go to NC with me.

That's great, I suppose.

Now, he talks about NC more than I do. He already put in an application for a job there even though we've only been together 2 months and we don't have enough money to move. This was my dream, and now it's become his. He chose the town, he's choosing when to go, and I feel like I'm just being dragged along against my will. He's taken my goal and made it his.

I was going to save up money for awhile. I was gonna take a vacation to NC for a week and just drive around until I found a town that felt like home. I was going to pack up all my stuff into a U-Haul trailer and just go. I was going to make it on my own.

He's taking my independence. It's not a bad thing. I can depend on him, and he'll do anything for me. He wants to help me achieve my goal.

But it was mine, and mine alone. I didn't want to share it.

Left Behind

2009-10-11T03:08:00.001-07:00

I am one of the chosen ones, the ones who have been left behind.

This is my nightmare. I counted the days until he returned, until the phone rang.

It was Friday night. He usually called me on Sundays. I knew something was wrong. I didn't want to answer it.

But I did.

Knowing that he would be home soon kept me going.

Knowing that he would come home in a coffin stopped me completely.

I collapsed to my knees, dropping the phone on the cold hardwood floor. He was still holding on then, but I already knew. I already knew that he wasn't going to make it. They amputated his arm, his leg. The right side of his face was destroyed. He was on life support, there was still activity in his brain. But I felt him slipping away from me, slowly. Painfully. He was trying to hold on for me, but he just couldn't do it. I couldn't make him do it.

I thought first of what he would be like if he did survive. If he came home as a broken man, physically and emotionally. The other three men who had been in the vehicle with him died instantly. He was the driver, and the IUD had impacted the passenger side of the backseat. He would feel so guilty if he survived, allowed to live when the brothers who had entrusted him with their lives were dead. He would never be able to play with his son, or coach his t-ball team. He would be so unhappy. I would still love him, but that wouldn't be enough.

He took his final breath early that Saturday morning as soon as the machines were shut off. I didn't get to kiss him goodbye. I laid in our bed awake all night, waiting for the phone next to me to ring. When it finally did, I felt the tiny glimmer of hope I still held onto fall away. I felt his soul slip away from me. We had been together for 6 years, through 2 deployments and 1 child. Our son, still in my womb, would never know his father. My due date was only 5 weeks away, just days after he was supposed to come home. My greatest fear when I kissed him goodbye for the last time was that he would miss his son's birth; the thought that he would never return had slipped from my mind.

I am one of the unlucky ones, the ones who have to say goodbye forever.

I am a widow, a single mother.

He joined the military because it was expected of him. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, his uncles, his grandfathers. He wanted to fight for his country. I admired and hated his selflessness all at once, knowing that I would have to face months, even years, without him. But the time we did have together made it worthwhile. We learned how strong our love was during his first deployment, and we were married as soon as he returned. 2 years passed, and then he was called to duty again. He had come back before, I was sure that he would come back this time. After 6 months he came home for 2 weeks, and our son was conceived. I remember telling him that we were having a boy, the happiness in his voice as he shouted to his comrades that he was going to have a son. I sent him photos of myself every week so he could watch our son grow. We discussed names and goals and what kind of parents we wanted to be whenever we talked. On the bad days, when his work was especially harrowing or his comrades were feeling low, he told me how much he hated being away from me while I was pregnant. He promised that he wouldn't leave my side for the next pregnancy. He said he would be there to get me chili cheese fries at 2 in the morning and to write on my back when I couldn't sleep. He wished that he could sing to the baby as he grew inside me, teaching him all the good Aerosmith songs.

And now?

I took out his favorite sweatshirt, the gray one that he had owned since before we met. There were holes in the sleeves where his thumbs poked through. I pulled it over my head and over my belly, trying to feel his warmth around me. But it wasn't the same. I took out his bottle of cologne and sprayed it on the shirt, but I still couldn't feel him with me. I cried for hours, knowing that nothing would ever come close to replacing him. Not his clothes, not his scent, not even his son.

I am alone.

I went to the funeral alone, holding my head down so I wouldn't have to see the others. I wasn't the only one who had lost him. I knew that once I started to cry again, I wouldn't be able to stop. I recognized a few of the soldiers there from the pictures he sent. The faces that had been so jovial on their days off were now somber and grim, filled with the guilt of surviving and the pain of their loss. They were burying their brother today, and each of them knew that it could just as easily be their body in that coffin underneath the American flag.

I barely heard the words that were spoken as I sat there in the front row, staring at my husband's final resting place. I stood as the soldiers gathered in front of me, holding the flag they had folded so precisely. I took it from them because it was my duty as a soldier's wife, not because I wanted it. It reminded me that he hadn't died for this country, but for another. Our freedom was never in jeopardy. He fought because those were the orders he was given, not because it was a cause he believed in. I became angry, unspeakably angry. I approached the coffin as his loved ones watched me, shocked in their mourning by my sudden loss of control. I began yelling, screaming, sobbing.

"You fucking bastard! Why did you make this happen?"

I wasn't angry at him.

I was angry at the president who started this war, the president who gave the orders to send in more troops.

"My son doesn't have a father!"

"You took my husband away from me! I hate you!" I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, but I pushed them away.

"Don't touch me!" I was being pulled away, but I wouldn't let go.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

The hands fell away, but the soldier still stood behind me. I screamed one last time, as loud as I could. My voice echoed throughout the cemetary.

I looked at the soldier who was behind me. I saw in his eyes the same anger I felt, the same sense of betrayal. His death wasn't necessary, and we both knew it. I fell into him and we cried together, knowing that this loss wasn't worth the gain. While I cried for my husband, for my fatherless child, this man cried for the 4 brothers he had lost.

This is the price of war.

This is the chance you take when you love a soldier.

The NC Diaries. 10-8-09

2009-10-08T01:25:00.000-07:00

I have two years and eleven days to get there.

It seems so far away.

But maybe, just maybe, I can get there sooner.

Knowing that I'll get to NC one way or another keeps me sane. When I want to hit people at work, when I sit at home because I'd rather be alone than with most of the people around here, I think of NC. I think about how amazing it will be to load all my stuff into a U-Haul trailer and drive there, stopping at motels along the way. I'll find a cute little place to live and unpack all my things, recreating home once again. Only this time, it will be different. There won't be anyone there to comfort me, to form an opinion of me based solely upon what they've "heard." I'll be starting anew, and I can rewrite my life story. If I want to, that is.

I can't wait.

I need $5000 in my savings account before I can leave. The car needs to be in perfect health, and I'll probably need a GPS. I'll have a cooler full of food to save some money, and a carton of smokes to get me through the long drive. I'll have an iPod by then to keep myself entertained on the road, and I'll listen to all those runaway songs I love as I'm heading out of town. I don't know yet if I'm going to have a goodbye party-- I probably won't. I'll get phone numbers and e-mail addresses, but that's all. Sure, I'll miss my family. But this is what I need to do, and I'm going to do it. One way or another.

"What's in North Carolina?"

"I'll find out when I get there."

Is this crazy? Without a doubt, yes. Leaving alone, starting over in a new place where I don't know anyone, most likely leaving before I have a job there. That's what the savings will be for-- so I can get a place to live and survive for a few months if I don't find a job right away.

I don't even know which town I'll end up in. And that's all part of the allure.

I plan on taking a trip to NC next year, probably late in the summer or early fall. I just want to go there and explore, and make a few connections if possible. It would be nice to have people I can call when I get there to help me unload my stuff. Even to help me find a job before I go. But even if I don't make those connections, I'll go. I need to get out of Illinois, and I need to start over. Too many things have gone wrong along the way, and staying here won't fix them.

I'll be 25 in 11 days. In 2 years and 11 days, I'll be a resident in NC.

People I want to punch.

2009-10-07T01:41:00.000-07:00

Just so you know, you might want to grab a sandwich before you start reading this... it might be a long one.

So yeah. I've had that urge to randomly punch people a lot lately. Fortunately, there's a guy at work that I beat up on a regular basis, so I can take most of that aggression out on him. Don't worry, I tell him I love him the next day. It evens out. Seriously though? I want to start randomly punching all the people who randomly need to be punched.

1. The idiots. Like the guy who asked me the other day which day [of the week] Thanksgiving was on. And then got defensive when I pointed out that it's on Thursday. Like it is every other year.

2. The people who think they know everything. No one knows everything, and the sooner the know-it-alls realize that, the sooner people will stop randomly getting punched in the face.

3. The fake bitches. The ones who come off as the nicest people in the whole entire world and then like to give dirty looks and say bitchy things for no reason when NO ONE was talking to them.

4. Pretty much every religious person I've ever met. I'm an atheist, and nothing you say will change my mind. As a matter of fact, the more you try to convince me otherwise, the more resolved I'm going to be that there is no God.

5. Needy guys. Okay, they're not necessarily needy, but they just want to talk to me too much. I don't want to text all day, or talk on the phone constantly. How bout asking me out in the first conversation and going from there? Oh, and I've also decided that I could use a reliable fuckbuddy. Just sayin.

6. Stupid girls. Only one category of them, though. The ones who get knocked up on purpose to keep a guy with them. Maybe stupid was the wrong word to use-- selfish is more accurate. Not only are you forever altering the guy's life, you're also bringing an innocent child into the picture. A child who will more than likely witness his parents fighting constantly for the first year or two of his life, who will wonder why mommy and daddy don't love each other as he's growing up. Try explaining to the kid that daddy never loved mommy, but mommy wanted him to. That daddy can never love mommy because she broke his trust by saying that she was on the pill when she suuuuuuuuuure wasn't. It's one thing if the condom breaks, or if you're that random .1% who gets knocked up on the pill. But if you say you're on birth control when you're not? Go kill yourself before you forever change someone else's life, and not necessarily for the better.

7. On the flip side, idiotic guys. The ones who don't bring their own condom because everyone knows that FEMALES LIE. Or, from personal experience, the ones who decide to take the condom off in the middle. Yes, I am on the pill. It doesn't protect me from anything the last whore you fucked was carrying around in her vagina.

I think that's enough for now. Mostly because I need a cigarette after that. Who do you want to punch?

This is what happens when sleeping pills don't work like they should.

2009-08-27T01:27:00.000-07:00

I wonder sometimes if I already missed my opportunity for happiness. You know, the I-have-everything-I-ever-wanted kind of happiness. I met him when I was in 8th grade, and I hadn't thought of him in years when I heard someone mention his name at work almost a year ago.

His name is Nick. He's married now, and I think he has a baby. And here I am, single and staying that way.

When I was 14, I wanted to be just like everyone else. I admire any teenager who doesn't feel that way. I saw the popular girls, and I wanted to be one of them. I wanted their clothes, their hairstyles, their friendships, their following. Instead, I was just an average girl, socially awkward and always at a loss for the right thing to say.

Nick liked me, though. Not the me I thought I wanted to be, but the me I was. And I liked him too. He was nice, he had sparkling blue eyes, and he was a gentleman. He stopped to talk to me whenever he had the chance.

I thought I'd have more opportunities to meet "the one." I mean, really. Who meets their soulmate in 8th grade homeroom? I wonder now if I did, if that was my only chance. He's not the type of guy to leave a wife, nor a "man" who would leave his child behind if his marriage floundered.

I remember what I said to fuck things up. I was sitting next to one of the popular girls, and she said something about Nick liking me while he was within earshot. I laughed it off, then said that I wished he would ask me out so I could just say no.

If only I could take back those words.

I'd never say anything like that now. If a guy was willing to put himself on the line to ask me out, I'd give him a chance. If I didn't like him, I'd let him know gently. I wouldn't embarrass him like I did Nick.

But I was only 14. I wanted to impress that girl so she'd invite me to sit at the popular table at lunch.

If only I could go back...

By the time I started high school, I knew that I would never belong to that clique. I didn't want to, not really. I realized that the popular crowd was no better than the rest of us. If anything, they were worse. They did everything to keep that label, sacrificing themselves often to be part of the in-crowd.

This blog is starting to sound like a bad after-school special...

I talked to Nick a few times during freshman year. I never meant to brush him aside, but he thought I did. He always seemed to catch me when I was studying, when I didn't have time to talk to him. So eventually he faded away, and that was all.

Then I heard his name, more than 5 years after we graduated. It dawned on me then that I had passed up a great guy for no good reason. I wished for another chance. Not with him, I'm not a homewrecker, but with anyone. I just wanted someone to make me feel important to them like Nick did.

I could have had a high school sweetheart. I could have gone to every dance, always had a date for the weekend. I could have lost my virginity to someone I loved because I loved him, not to some guy because I didn't want to be a virgin anymore. I could proudly state that I've only slept with one person instead of telling everyone that I never reveal the body count. We would have gotten married out of high school, and I could have gone to college while he was in the military.

My life could have been so different.

I believe that our lives are determined for us the moment we're born. There are certain things that will inevitably happen, good and bad. You can take the hard path, or you can take the easy path. You never know which is which until it's all said and done. Nick was my easy path, and I'm wondering now if going that way really would have been a good thing. I think of all the things I would have missed out on, like learning how to be completely independent. Then I think of all the things I would have had, and wonder if those would have been taken away from me. Maybe someday we would have grown apart, and I would have been lost without him. I wouldn't have known what it was like to be truly alone before he left me.

I wish I could just know what a life with him would have been like. Maybe if he had asked me to a dance, or even asked for my phone number, things could have been different. My practical mind won't let me take all the blame for this missed opportunity. My words cut deep, I'm sure, but he still talked to me after that. I hope he knows that I never meant to be so hurtful.

Nick, I want to apologize to you. It's been more than 10 years, and I still hate that I could ever say something like that. I did like you, and I would have given you a chance. I just wasn't ready then, not when I was 14. I wish I had had you throughout high school instead of the long string of assholes who only used me to get what they wanted. I deserved that for the way I hurt you. I was so careless. I know you're happy now, and I hope you stay that way. I hope your wife knows how lucky she is, and that she never takes you for granted. If I could go back to that day in homeroom, I would have brushed Courtney aside instead of you. You would have been everything I wanted, but I pushed you away. I'm sorry.

The Next Suicide

2009-08-26T23:46:00.000-07:00

I used to have it all. I was beautiful, I was rich, and I was famous. Women envied me, men wanted me. I married the man every woman wanted, and I was happy. We were happy.

Then it was over. All of it, all at once. There should have been a crash, an explosion. But there was nothing. The fame was still there, the money. But suddenly I was 40 and alone, and the man every woman wanted was with one of those other women. I wondered what I did wrong, what I did to push him away. I hated myself for not getting pregnant, for not being able to give him the child both of us desperately wanted. She already had two children, a boy and a girl, and she was ready for a bigger family. Her fame was only illuminated by her compassion for disadvantaged children. She was a sex pistol and a saint, and she had my husband. No one mentions that she's a homewrecker, a theif.

There have been other men. I've adored them, and they have pushed me aside. I stare in the mirror for hours, trying to figure out what is so wrong with me. There are so many men in the world who would worship me, but none of them are here. None of them have tried to make me happy.

Maybe happiness just isn't possible for me.

Soon, I will fade away. I will be forgotten, a lost star. People may wonder what happened to me, but no one will notice when I'm dying alone in a decrepit nursing home. There will be no visitors, no cameras. Someday my name in the credits will be unrecognizable, and soon afterwards the movies that defined me will cease to exist. Then what happens? There will be nothing left. There will be nothing to live for, no memories to carry me through my final days.

There is only one solution. I do not want to fade away; I want to be remembered. There will be cameras, and news stories. There will be hushed whispers and bizarre conspiracies, but only I will know the truth. Only I will know that the overdose was intentional, that the drugs I swallowed won't be found in the autopsy. My name will be in the headlines for weeks, and the tragedy of my shortened life will affect so many people. They won't forget me. As this day passes each and every year, my name will be mentioned again, my last moments relived through an anchorwoman with a fake look of empathy. She'll just be reading lines, the same way I used to read lines.

But now, it's all over. I don't want to be the lonely one, I don't want to be the starlet who's past her prime. This is the only way.

Look! I'm still creative in a non-psychotic way! My bf Jake Fox agrees!

2009-08-25T03:15:00.000-07:00

You never think it can happen to you. And then it does, and then you're lost. You wonder why the world around you doesn't stop moving after you've lost the only thing that kept you going. You stare at pictures. You stare at children playing at the park. You stare at garbage bags on the side of the highway, wondering what might be inside. You want to pull over, to look inside those bags, to find absolution. But if that is your child's beaten, broken body in that bag, you don't want to see it. You want to remember her as she was, laughing and playing in the dirt. Alive. Home. You can't think of the alternative. First a few days pass, then a few weeks. The posters disappear. There aren't any more updates in the newspaper. Your friends, your family, treat you as though you never had a child at all. And you hate them. You hate them for forgetting her. You hate them for not knowing what it's like to lose a child.

Some days, you just want a call. Dead or alive, you just want to know. The uncertainty makes each day unbearable, but the hope keeps you from giving up. What if she is dead? What would you do if you got that call today? Would you take the pictures down? Would you have a funeral? Or would you just let her slip away, knowing that whatever she suffered during the last moments of her life doesn't matter now?

And if she is alive? Then what happens? She was only 4 when she disappeared. She might remember you vaguely, dream of you every now and then. But she has a new family, another woman she calls mom. She's happy with them. If you try to take her back, it would be like making her disappear all over again.

These are the thoughts that haunt me, every moment of every day. There can be no happy ending to this story. She's been gone for 6 years today. If she's alive, she's 10 years old. If she isn't...

The thought stops there. I can't think of that, not today. I can only think of what she would look like, what kind of person she would be. Does she still like Barbies? Does she still pretend she's a princess, hiding in her castle behind the big tree in the backyard?

That was the last place I saw her. It was a beautiful spring day, two weeks after her birthday. She was wearing a blue sweater over a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans with butterflies on the pockets. She insisted on wearing her new Barbie tennis shoes even though the yard was still muddy from the rain a few days earlier. She took me by the hand and pulled me outside with her. She told me that she was the princess and I was the queen, and that we had to hide in the castle from the bad men.

I remember telling the police about her charade after she disappeared. What bad men, they asked. I didn't know. I wish I did. I thought she was only playing; could she have known what was to come? A child's intuition is an amazing thing, a gift whose significance they can never truly grasp.

We played in the castle for a long time. She served tea, using leaves as cups and a stick as a teapot. I kept thinking about the laundry that needed to be folded, the floors that needed to be vacuumed. Had I known those would be the last moments I shared with my daughter, I would have enjoyed it more. I would have forgotten about everything else and rolled in the grass with her. But I was sure that we would have a hundred more days like that, a million more moments to share.

Sometimes, I say her name aloud just to hear it. Alana. Alana. Alana Maribelle. My beautiful baby girl, my only child. I wonder now if her disappearance was my punishment for that afternoon that I sat in the waiting room of the abortion clinic, knowing that ending my pregnancy was the only solution. I was 22 when I got pregnant, but I wasn't ready to settle down. I didn't think that I could raise a child, and I didn't want to tell her father about her. I knew too many girls my age, not women, who were raising babies on their own. I couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough.

I went into one of the sterile rooms. I sat on the cold metal table, dressed only in a paper gown. I waited for the doctor to come in, to cleanse my body of the life that had been growing inside it for 7 weeks. There was a knock on the door, and the knob began to turn.

I started sobbing. I had been mulling this decision over and over in my mind since the plus sign appeared on the home pregnancy test two weeks ago, and I was sure. This was what I had to do. But suddenly I couldn't. I knew this decision was harder, that there was no turning back. I was going to have a baby. The doctor left the room and I got dressed, still crying. I hated myself for even thinking that I could end the life inside me. I ran out the front door of that place, past a pair of protesters who yelled "murderer" at me. I didn't stop to tell them that I had changed my mind. I wanted to get far away from that place as fast as I could.

Seven months later, Alana was born. Six pounds, five ounces, 18 inches long. My angel. As I looked into that tiny, beautiful face, I couldn't believe that I had ever considered ending my pregnancy. She was everything I had been waiting for my entire life. All of my hopes and dreams revolved around this tiny girl, and she quickly became the source of all my happiness. Being a single mother was hard, but Alana made it all worthwhile. Everything I did was for her.

Before she disappeared, things had been going well for us. I had a decent job, one that didn't make me work weekends and understood if I had to leave early to pick my little girl up from daycare because she didn't feel well. I had finally bought us a little house, a two-bedroom shack that I fixed up myself and that we could call our own. Alana picked out pastel pink paint for her bedroom walls vehemently, not even considering any of the other colors I showed her. She placed her hands in the wet cement after the sidewalk in front of our house was poured. I run my fingers over those tiny handprints sometimes, wondering how big her hands are now. The picture we took the day we moved into the house still sits inside on a frame on my nightstand. I thought about moving into a bigger house, even moving to a different town. Knowing that Alana knew her address and phone number by heart kept me from leaving. Maybe someday she would get away from the demons who stole her from me, and she would be able to find her way home. That hope kept me rooted where I was, unable to move forward. Time stopped for me when I called Alana's name that afternoon and she didn't come to the house.

I called her name again, again. I grew irritated at first, thinking she was just playing a game with me when I wanted her to come in for dinner. I made her favorite, lasagna and garlic bread. I had a busy night planned; a babysitter was coming over at 7 so I could go on a date. I was nervous over my first date with a guy my friend Andrea had set me up with, and Alana's refusal to cooperate only shattered my nerves further. I yelled her name one more time, adding that she wouldn't get dessert if I had to come find her. I looked to the big tree, her castle. I saw her blue sweater lying in the grass, but my daughter wasn't there.

I searched the yard. I looked through the garage, checking any space where she might be able to hide. I yelled her name frantically, knowing in the bottom of my heart that something was terribly wrong. Neighbors came outside when they heard me yelling, and they started to yell her name too. When the streetlights came on and there was no sign of Alana, I went into the house and called the police. Dinner was sitting in pans on the stove, untouched. I called for Alana inside the house while I waited for the police to come, hoping that she had snuck inside when she heard me yelling for her. I said that if she would just come out, she wouldn't be in trouble.

She wasn't there, and I knew it. Alana never liked playing hide and seek. Even when she had done something wrong, she wouldn't hide from me. We were a team, Alana and I. I punished her when it was necessary, but she always knew that I loved her, that I forgave her. She was a good girl.

The babysitter pulled up, then the squad car. The entire neighborhood was already searching for my angel baby, yelling her name as they swept the bushes with a flashlight. I answered the policeman's questions mechanically, telling him when I had last seen Alana and what she was wearing. I felt like a failure as a mother under his gaze. I never should have let her out of my sight. I was supposed to protect her, keep her safe. And I couldn't.

Andrea came over with her husband, and Jeremy was with them. I apologized to him for missing the date, and he didn't know what to say. He looked at the picture of Alana that the policeman held, then went outside to join the search party that had formed. He told me how pretty she was, that she looked just like me. She had inherited my brown curls and green eyes. I thanked him for coming to help find my little girl.

My house became ground zero for the first two weeks after Alana disappeared. Policemen came and asked me the same questions over and over again, but they never had any new information for me. There was no hope for them to give me. The statistics said that she had probably been taken by someone I knew, and that she had more than likely been killed within hours of her disappearance. People were careful not to mention that around me, but I already knew. I had watched news stories of missing children before, and they all ended the same. But those parents still waited for their child to be returned to them safely, even after years had passed. I would do the same.

I'm sorry.

2009-08-05T01:03:00.000-07:00

He found out about Fox today.

I talked to him after the game. He was already pissed off because he didn't do much, and he got hit by a pitch. He was sitting in the hotel with ice on his arm when he called me.

I've never wanted to be able to fly so much in my entire life. I just wanted to be there with him. I need him right now. Not just his voice. But I won't get to see him much this month. At least, not in person.

We had been talking for a little while when Jake beeped in. I switched over just to say that I'd call him back later. I don't know how Ryan figured out who Jake was calling, but he did. I called him back because he wasn't there when I tried to switch back. I knew something was seriously wrong when I heard his voice again.

"Why did Jake call you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll give you one chance to tell me the truth. Why did Jake call you?"

So I told him. Everything. That Wells is just a fling, and that as much as I lust for Jake, I know it won't get serious between us. And that I'm not ready to give either one of them up.

He was disappointed. That hurt the most. Then I thought that he might hate me for this, and I realized that I just can't lose him too. Not right now. He's been my rock the last few days, and I'll need him even more as the shit starts to hit the fan.

We didn't talk much longer after that. He's angry with me, I know. My apology meant nothing because he knows I won't stop what's going on with Fox and Wells just yet. But if it comes down to them or Ryan, I know what I have to do. I just wish he could understand that I'm not trying to hurt anybody. Hell, Fox and Wells both know that I'm not looking for anything serious. I just want to have fun. For once I have all the attention I've ever wanted, and I want to enjoy it for a little while. I need the distraction.

I miss Ryan already.
I wish I could put my arms around him and let him know that no matter what, he'll always mean the world to me.

Another installment of Toni and the Cubs

2009-08-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

First and foremost: I forgave Dempster today. There won't be a reconciliation between us, but at least we can be friends. He had an amazing outing today, and I'm soooo pissed off at Gregg for fucking it up. Again.

I mean, seriously. Why take Heilman out? Hmmm? Oh well, a new series starts tomorrow.

Anyway. Talked to Theriot again last night. Have I mentioned that he's the greatest listener EVER? After everything that went down yesterday, I just needed someone to tell me that everything is going to be okay and that it's understandable for me to be pissed off. And to just sit there and listen to me cry over the phone for 10 minutes.

Once I calmed down, though, he tried to talk to me about what's going on with Wells. He said that I was just using him to make Dempster jealous, and I didn't exactly deny it. I like Wells, though. He's good people, and he's as great behind closed doors as he is on the pitcher's mound. I told Theriot that I don't know if it will last, but I'm going to see what happens.

I haven't told him about Fox yet. I know he'll be mad at me. Not just that I'm having a fling with Fox, but that I'm seeing Wells at the same time. I know I need to make a choice soon...

I was still crying when I got off the phone. I could have talked to him all night. But he was exhausted after the long game last night, and I couldn't keep him up and hinder his game today. Not that it mattered with Gregg on the mound... Yeah, I'm still mad. I haven't decided yet if I was crying because of everything that happened or because I couldn't talk to Theriot anymore. Hell, I just don't know. I think I'm just distracting myself with Fox and Wells... I know which Cub my heart really belongs to...

Toni and the Cubs... a soap opera

2009-07-30T22:14:00.000-07:00

So, I dumped Dempster today. After his performance Tuesday, it was inevitable. We had one last rendezvous on the pitcher's mound, and then I told him it was over. I told him that I know he can do better, and until he does, I don't want anything to do with him.

He got pretty belligerent. I mean, as belligerent as you would expect any redheaded Canadian to get... So to piss him off a little more, I made out with Randy Wells right in front of him. Looks like I've got me a new pitcher to love... even though he wasn't pitching today.

I was on the phone with Theriot for a few hours last night, talking to him about my dilemma with Dempster. Theriot is a great guy, and he's one of my closest friends. The person I can go to for anything. He'll even hold my purse for me at the mall. I thought I heard him say the l-word right before I hung up... but can I really give him up as a friend? And Randy Wells is such a good kisser, I really wanna see what he can do when no one is watching...

Then there's Jake Fox. We caught each other's eye a few times today, and exchanged a few knowing glances. That boy makes my clothes fall off...

Like sands in the hourglass, so are the days of our lives...

Letters to you (1)

2009-07-24T00:39:00.000-07:00

Someday, I'll convince myself that you're not here. You're not the guy who's drunk more often than not, who has more potential than anyone else I know, and who can't commit to me for more than one night at a time. You're not the guy who refuses to make the first move and then gets pissed off at me when I don't do it either. You're not the guy who tells me he'll always be there and then lets me down the first time I need him.

You're the one who won't make me cry. You won't ever promise me something and then change your mind, and you won't make me feel like I'm the least important thing in your life.

You'll be the one I can count on. You'll be the one I can turn to, the one who will stand by me through everything. You won't let me settle for less than I deserve, than I can accomplish. And I'll do the same for you in return. You won't ever have to wonder whether or not I'll be there.

Do I have the patience to wait 2 more years? Some days, I'm not sure. As I think of all the bullshit guys have put me through, though, I know that the wait will be worth it. Now I just have to quit expecting to find you everywhere I go. I'm always looking for you, and that makes it harder to find you. I'm looking in all the wrong places.

Tonight, I just want to talk to you. I need someone to listen to me bitch about work and how I hate everyone. You'll be the only one who understands why I hate them all so much. You don't have to say anything, though. Just listen.

I don't know what else to say right now. You already know that I'm waiting for you, and I'll keep waiting for you. Sometimes I wonder if you'll still be there by the time I get there, or if you'll be too jaded to give me all the things I need. But somehow optimism prevails, and I know all this will be worth it in the end.

It has to be.

So yeah.

2009-07-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

Ooopsy daisy, someone is mad at me...

No, it's not the friend from yesterday's blog. Hell, she hasn't even realized yet that I deleted her from my friend list in order to post a link.

So, I have this problem where I attract only the most undatable guys on the face of the planet. What's that, did you just ask me about my last date? Okay, I'll tell you.

It was on V-day. I had been whining all week about how I was going to sit at home and drink by myself that night. This guy at work walks by and says he'll take me out. I kinda took it in jest considering he's got 20 years on me and, as far as old guys go, he's kinda creepy. Not stalker creepy, but weird creepy.

So yeah. Moving on.

As the week went on, he kept asking me about Saturday night. I agreed to go, thinking he was trying to be nice to me and I should just accept it. That Friday, he drunk dialed me twice. The first time was at 1:30 in the afternoon, and the second was shortly after five.

Yeah. Awesome.

I picked him up Saturday night. He was dressed up, had a new haircut, and was holding a bouquet of daisies. Not so bad, right?

We were less than a block away from his apartment when he said something to the effect of "We'll go out as friends and see what happens from there."

Uhhh... I thought it was supposed to be a pity date?

We went to a chicken place. He had mentioned something about a much fancier restaurant, but I'll be honest with you. I didn't want to be seen out in public with him at a place like that. And if you met the guy, you'd understand.

Throughout dinner, he touched on quite a few not-really-appropriate topics. He discussed his dentures, his dad farting and stinking up the car (that was a recent story, not a childhood memory), and how he tears up at sad movies. And his sister makes fun of him.

Yeah, I would too. Just sayin.

He wanted to go have a few drinks, but I wasn't exactly having that. I thanked him for the dinner and took him home while he asked me more than once to show him where I lived.

Uh, no. The last thing I need is his drunk ass on my doorstep at 1:30 in the morning...

He tried to talk to me like we were best friends at work on Monday. I swear, I thought it was a pity date! If I had thought it was more than that, I would have stuck to my original plan... drinking at home by myself. I started pretty much ignoring him at work when he started drunk dialing me every weekend.

And that was my last date.

Now you understand my hopelessness...

I attract drunk guys, old guys, and drunk old guys with herpes. Ewww.

There's another guy at work who expressed a little interest in me. Sent me "romantic" messages over facebook, texted me about joining him at the bar a couple of times. The problem with this guy? He's kinda repulsive. I'm talking disgusting teeth, huge mole on the back of his head, and moodier than me to complete the package.

He's a nice guy and all, but I have to be able to look at the person I'm seeing with the lights on, ya know? I wouldn't say I've been bitchy to him, but I've definitely been standoffish. I don't want to encourage him when I know that I'm not gonna go there. So tonight I get a message from him that says "Yeah. I quit."

I didn't know he had even started...

When did guys become so fucking lazy? I mean, seriously. If you like a girl, ask her out. If she says no, fine. Your poor little ego will recover from a rejection. There's another guy at work who goes around saying that I never gave him a chance when he's had my number just as long as I've had his, and he's never even sent me a fucking message. I'm sorry, but I'm tired of being the one to put forth all the effort. I've done it a hundred times before, and it all ends the same. If a guy doesn't have the balls to show he's interested in me, he doesn't have the balls to end it respectfully when he decides that things aren't working out. Is it really that much to ask to see some fucking initiative?

Bottom line is, don't call me a bitch when you didn't even try to take me out on a respectable date. And no, inviting me to a bar because you don't have anyone else to talk to does not count as asking me out on a date. If you're interested, let me know. If I'm not interested, I promise that I won't be a dick about it. I'll turn you down gently and even let you know why if you ask me. But seriously? I'm female. I'm supposed to be courted. Don't make me court you, because it's not gonna happen. I want a gentleman, not a lazy bastard who's willing to settle for whichever bitch happens to be closest.

[/rant]

This has been a long time coming...

2009-07-22T02:07:00.001-07:00

She's been my best friend for 20 years and I hate her.

That's not exactly true, I guess. It's not that I hate her. It's just that I don't want to have anything to do with her anymore.

We've been best friends since we were 4 years old. The first time she blew me off for someone else, I was only 6. We were in kindergarten, and we always played together at recess. I remember this moment as if I'm holding a picture in my hand--- I looked up at the slide where she was standing with another girl, and she just shrugged when I finally caught her eye, like she was saying "oops, sorry." Like it was no big deal.

That girl came and went, but I was the one who stuck around.

I was 14. I was staying the night at her house, and I read an e-mail from a guy I liked. He was pissed off at me, and I was upset. She didn't try to ask what was wrong, or let me talk to her about it. All she said was "if my mom comes down here, she's gonna wonder why you're crying." At least someone would have cared.

We stopped hanging out during our sophomore year of high school. She was dating a guy who was a total dick, treated her like shit, and generally pissed me off. I became the person she came to bitch to when she was pissed off at him. They were together for 3 years. We were supposed to hang out one New Year's eve. She called and said she didn't feel good. I wasn't mad. That is, until I drove by her house and saw her boyfriend's car there.

Somehow, I still convinced myself to call her on her birthday a month and a half later. God knows she would never make the effort to apologize.

She started dating a guy in college. She was having a hard time adjusting to being alone in a new place, and dealing with being truly single for the first time since she was 15. I told her to have a one night stand. She started sleeping with a guy she worked with on a regular basis. He happened to be engaged.

I liked him. I was invited to family gatherings for the first time since she started dating the dickhead, and this guy didn't make me feel like a third wheel. I did, however, get used to hearing from her maybe once every few months. We hung out when she was in town, and I visited her at school a few times. As the years went by, I realized that she wasn't going to stay with this guy. Neither of them were happy, and it was obvious. So I waited.

And then she called me while I was at a party one night to tell me that they were splitting up. He had cheated on her, and it wasn't the first time.

I don't hate him. Hell, I've talked to him a few times since they broke up. She knew what she was getting into, and she pursued a relationship with him anyway. And it wasn't the first time she broke up a relationship, either.

And then she wants to bitch about karma.

Here's the dilemma: She's been depressed since the break up. It's not surprising. She's also been in town at least once a month, and I'm just expected to drop everything to hang out with her. I got a message from her ex one night saying that she was threatening to kill herself. When I called her, she bitched at me and told me that she wouldn't let me in if I came to see her. She cried suicide in an attempt to get her ex to come over.

It had been hard enough to try to be the good friend before that night. When I realized what she had done, I lost all respect for her. She's never been the kind of person that I want to associate myself with, and I know that now.

See, I've been depressed too. I was in deep after I graduated from high school. During that time, she couldn't be bothered to return my calls. She blew me off for my 19th birthday, and it wasn't the last time she's done it. She's lied to me many times.

And now I'm supposed to be the kind of friend I needed back then.

I found myself hoping that she would find someone new soon. That way, I could just slowly fade into the background. I hated myself for thinking that. But ya know? I can only take so much abuse. She blamed me for getting with the last guy, and for taking up smoking since the break up. I'll take responsibility for the dickhead, but I had nothing to do with her staying with him for 3 years. I'm not gonna be her scapegoat, and I'm not gonna put forth the effort to help her when she couldn't be troubled to do the same for me. I've kicked people out of my life for a lot less.

Fading...