Finish the Sentence

Hi! Trifextratime again! As of the time of writing, 61 posts were linked, but none included what I thought immediately upon reading the challenge, so, here goes:


In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life -- shit always happens.

Interwoven Threads

While trying on my investigative hat again this evening I realized that John may have used a vacation rental address for the form I found. It's a ham radio license, and it was originally issued with the last known address I have. I'm going to guess he uses the radio for sailing and not much else. The town with the updated address is on the water. It also seems to be something of an old talk show host mecca, as I found two who currently live there. And that was without trying, with the prices homes were commanding, ($35,000 a month rentals) and it's proximity to NYC, I'm sure many other famous rich people live there. I'm still searching for a number, and I'm still going to send something, but, honestly, ... I don't expect a reply.

I also realized that the same friend who introduced me to my son's father was instrumental in my talking to John.

I dumped a drink on the head of a girl I knew through my ex that night. Don't worry, I made it look like an accident by taking a drink from the guy behind the bar (who was a very recent ex), reaching over the girl's head and tilting. I got away with it the first time. The second time I got a little overzealous and someone noticed. The girl's friend towered over me, slurring and screaming about me dumping a drink on her friend's head. I caught some looks from the guys that let me know I wouldn't be winning any friends if I started shit, so I did what any good asshole drunk without backup would do -- I lied my fucking ass off. I didn't just say I didn't do it, oh no, that wasn't good enough for me. I had to throw in there that if I had wanted to pour a drink on her head, I would have just done it cuz I didn't give a fuck what those bitches thought about me. It worked. (We actually all ended up being friends and we're all Facebook friends today, but I never admitted I purposely dumped my drink on her head.)

After that spectacle, I went to talk to my friend Josh, who was talking to John, who had just returned to school (and his fraternity) for his Master's degree after two years working. They were in the doorway to the bar room, wedged into the space to get behind the bar. I decided John was mine. He decided no such thing was going to happen. Being the charming asshole that I was, I didn't go away when he refused to dance with me, multiple times. He was laughing as he refused, so I didn't give up. When Josh got tired of me being a pain in the ass, he came up with a plan. If I could walk across the bar, which was shoulder to shoulder drunks, and back with a full, open can of beer on my head, John would dance with me.

I fall over standing still. People think I'm invisible or something, because I always get knocked around. I was wasted.

Of course I agreed.

Josh made a big show of opening the can of Black Label for my head, and I set off, head rigid, hands raised, hoping to minimize the beer spill to come. Except it never came. I have no idea how I did it, other than slowly and screaming for people to get out of my way, but I did it.

When I got back to the guys, John was laughing in open mouthed disbelief, poking Josh, yelling that Josh had made the deal and not him. Josh was just open mouthed and shrugging, insisting that he thought he'd found a way to get me to go away. I was grinning wildly, drinking the beer that had been on my head. John put another qualifier on the deal, and off I went to complete part two of my impossible quest. The song he required started playing within minutes. :D He was a good sport and followed me to the dance floor.

Later, we sat at a dining room table talking for hours, until I got a phone call. Yeah, I got a phone call on the lobby phone of his fraternity, and someone I didn't know at the time, but clearly knew who I was, came looking for me. After that, John lied and said his sister was visiting so he had to go home. I have no idea what happened next, I know the phone call I got was the start of some very psychotic behavior on the part of my friend's girlfriend, but I think I just passed out somewhere, sure that John would eventually see my charms.

Does Googling People Ever Pay Off?

After some not-very-obsessive searching for this guy, I finally found a recent address. (I lied, it was slightly obsessive. Other people paid to find the info and couldn't. OK, maybe slightly is understatement too, but I did often go months without trying.) Of course, the address alone tells me very little about his life. Sure, I know he's got an exclusive zipcode and lives only slightly over 2 hours away, near an area I hated when I visited him before, but what does that really tell me? I don't know if he's married to his job, or his boat, or waiting for same sex marriage to be legal in his state. (I hope he's not holding his breath if that's the case.)

Basically, now that I have an address, I'm scared to use it. I want to send something that shows some effort, doesn't look creepy, and most of all, something that makes him smile and hopefully want to contact me. Of course I want him to see it, and decide he can't waste another minute, he has to call me, but I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen. And what if it did? What do I have to offer, even by way of a decent conversation? Not much. I don't want to tell him the truth about my life now. I don't want to skirt around any questions aimed my way, or just start crying about how much I miss him.

And what if he doesn't respond? Could I handle that? I'm not so sure any amount of bracing myself would soften that blow. So I don't know what I'd do if he does or doesn't respond. Awesome.

I just know I need to decide soon, in case he moves again.

I was going to send an anonymous card cuz I'm a fat loser. That just seems dumb though, because if he knows it's me and wants to contact me, he wouldn't be able to. I could give my last name and any zipcode within a 60 mile radius and I wouldn't be easily found. All three colleges I attended had someone with the same name, the same years I was there. I worked with one of them for a few weeks. So, then I considered sending something with my name, but no address -- same dumb dilemma. I want to send everything and have him try every single way to contact me as soon as he gets it. I want to tell him I'm a big fat loser who doesn't deserve a moment of his time, but I'd love to have it. Maybe I'll try that mythical magic ground and send some funny reminder of our past and put a return address on the envelope and hope for the best.

Insomniac Snippets

I've got horrible insomnia and can't complete a thought to save my life. There's more to these stories, but I figured I'd put the snippets out there in case I never finish the thoughts behind them.

------------------
These days that blend together in a neverending cycle of sleeping when I should be waking and vice versa are wearing me down. They remind me of when I was lonely and kinda shattered, but not quite, like the shell on a hardboiled egg that has been pounded, and you can see all the cracks, and know that the inside is suffering the effects and rotting as you watch, but it's still on the egg, and the egg, obviously, does nothing to remove or repair the damage. It just sits there, being an inanimate object that once had a shot at being a living creature. I guess that's kinda how I feel.


--------------------
One of the bouncers I was friendly with, upon seeing me seated alone at the bar, asked, "Where is your royal court tonight?" I was confused, he mentioned me always having a different group of people following me around, and I laughed dismissively, saying my friend would be there in a few minutes. I had many people comment on my ever changing bar companions. Most people said it in awe, and added things along the lines of, "Do you know everyone?"

My reaction to these comments was always the same, superficially dismissive, secretly wondering why they didn't realize it just meant no one could put up with me that often.



-------------------
I got kicked off the drunk bus that night. We were in a beach party town, he had driven us to a condo procured by my friend's friends. I knew the people who had paid for the place from going to their bar. I don't really know how I ended up semi-invited there, but I do know Matt was the one who drove us there, despite the fact that no one but me knew him at all. By the time I got back to the condo with Matt, I was only wearing a bra and thong. That was highly unusual for me. Under the guise of taking care of me, or getting me to calm down, pass out, whatever, Matt took me to the balcony, where I know I told him "No" many, many times. I also know that I did eventually cave in, saying, "Jesus Christ, just shut up and do it already, you're getting on my nerves." To his credit, he did ask if I was sure. I don't remember exactly how I replied, but I know I displayed general annoyance of the situation.

As he pushed my underwear out of the way and entered me, he made a noise of such sheer and utter satisfaction, from waiting for over a year for that moment, that just what was happening sunk into my drink addled mind. To his credit, his first stroke was his only one, because he stopped as soon as I realized what we were doing and started freaking out. I was angry and wouldn't speak to him after that. I remember him telling me angrily that he was wasted too and that maybe if I'd talk to him, I'd find out that he was sorry. I wouldn't talk to him. It was an uncomfortable day or two at the beach and a hellish four hours home.

Several years later I saw him at my oldest bar hangout. My friend had just died, and I was feeling nostalgic (and a little generous -- I know, how kind of me), so I said hello. The look of joy at my acknowledgment of his existence struck me like a backhand. I sneered at him, snarled about how I couldn't believe he was still in love with me and stalked away, leaving him open mouthed and gasping, near tears in the bar. I haven't seen him since.

13 years

If I could go back to relive that day and night exactly 13 years ago, sometimes I think I'd do it in a second. Other days, I'm not so sure I could live through the "after" part again. Yet another idea surges through my brain, this time about going back with the knowledge of what is to come, trying to convince him to live while he still can. I could only save him once, please make it count, please make every second count. I'd tell him I really never could get angry with him, not really, and that I always really did forgive him, often before I knew I should be forgiving something.

I'd also tell him that while I accepted him wholeheartedly as he was, I couldn't always open myself up to the pain of his rejection. That he should think about whether he really wanted to push me away or not. That I'd still feel the same way about him if he made the same choices he had the first time I lived through this, but I really hoped I had a chance to make some better choices myself. I'd tell him that I was broken too, and that maybe together we could chip off all the sharp parts, all the pieces that made us bleed, and become well worn and softer around the edges together.

I'd tell him that I don't know if I could stop the jealous rage that ended his life, those seeds were sown before I had a chance to pluck them from the ground, but I'd make damn sure to try.

I'd tell him that I was right, he will always feel perfect next to me. I will always feel like I am where I belong in his arms. It just wasn't as often as I'd have liked it to be, or even as often as I had the chance. I'd tell him that even if he didn't listen the first time, I'd try harder the second. I'd forget pride and do what my heart urged me to do when we met again. I'd say fuck it and not worry about how I needed a shower, or wanted him to say this or that, and just fucking jump, not caring where I landed because then at least I'd have been closer to him for even a day extra.

There are so many things I'd like to do differently, or again. The only thing I can't consider changing is being able to control myself and stay away from him that night, 13 years ago, when he was my friend's date to the wedding she and I were both in.

The three year anniversary of the murder of someone I love is coming up. I wrote this around a week or so after his death, originally posted as two, but, fuck it. The day he died, I happened to go to a bizarro boulder field, and I was thinking about him even more than usual that day, and singing Tool in my head. Not sure if I can add a video properly, but Tool's Sober is most definitely the soundtrack.



He can tell it is sunny, although no light reaches the forest floor, still damp and cool beneath his feet. Birds twittering and singing above cover the sound of his soft, slow footsteps. He plods on, with no destination in mind. Looking up, he notices a larger chunk of blue than was previously visible. The sounds of the birds seem to have lessened. Sunlight begins to reach the ground around him, which has grown rocky.

Larger stones, more blue and fewer birds greet his every step. He experiences no sense of foreboding, but finds his senses heightened. The weariness that had hunched his shoulders lessens somewhat, as he finds himself warily looking forward.

What greets him is wholly unexpected: a field of boulders, completely free of vegetation. This is no mere stone outcropping. The vegetation is missing in a huge chunk, slightly below the outlining trees, likethebottom of a humongous rectangular basin. As he reaches the border, he looks out and wonders if the gods had been fighting in this spot. Nothing else seems to explain the immense space seemingly devoid of all life, occupied instead by rocks.

Confused, he seats himself on an edging boulder, fairly near the massive trees. Water has run over these rocks and left its circular mark apparent. The next thing that catches his eye is a vast assortment of large black spiders, creeping between and over boulders, two and three to a stone. Flies buzz hungrily above. He pauses and considers what the flies eat, as there isno obvious decay or growth. Even the birds seem to have abandoned this clearing.

Fascination draws him into the field. Walking seems to take forever. The sun has moved, but his progress is barely visible. Spiders are everywhere. The feelings of emptiness and awe mingle in his soul. He finds his pace slowing, shoulders hunching once again, an unconscious effort to lessen the pain in his back. He has grown hot in the midst of these rocks, and begins to strip himself bare.

Hunched shoulders are not the only sign of his decaying body. What was once his muscular abdomen was now shriveled yet fleshy. Arms had lost their muscle tone, and the legs were soon to follow. That was barely noticeable to him, but the gray that was beginning to show amidst his pubic hair mocked him In fact, his penis mocked him too. It had long ago abandoned him, refusing to participate in any activities that didn’t strictly involve pissing.

As he picks his way slowly across the field, the reek of cigarettes, pot and last night’s beer runs from his pores, cleansing, while simultaneously reminding him of his vices. His fingers itch to hold something to his lips, something, anything that will soothe his cravings. Absently, he lifts his right arm in front of his face and runs his fingers through sweaty hair. The gray there mocks him almost as much as the pubic hair, but just almost. Somehow the hair on his head defying him seems less insulting. He won’t allow himself to touch empty fingers to his lips. His eyes begin flitting back and forth, thinking too many thoughts to process at once. He closes them and takes a deep breath.

He wishes his brain would quiet down again. When he first reached this strange barren arena, the sense of calmness that overcame him was welcome. Now, doubting his sanity for crossing the expanseof rock, among other things, all calmness has fled his weakened body.

He is nearing the center and not sure he can reach an edge in any direction before exhaustion overtakes him. Lying on the boulders seems to be the only reasonable option for rest. Those damn spiders still lurk in almost every crevice. Ignoring them, he painfully eases his body on top of and between the formations. He welcomes the pain almost as much as he welcomes the stillness.

Despite the sun, the crevices between rocks are cool. As he reclines his head on the bundle of malodorous clothes, he notices the sound of running water beneath him. Unclear as how this could possibly be, he presses his ear as far into a gap as possible. His nose touches an ancient water etching while the sound of the improbable repeats in his ear. A spider tickles his bare ass.

Finally, after brushing away the spider, he poses himself on the boulders once more. This time he positions himself with arms outstretched, face looking toward the broad expanse of blue above. He wishes for the water to rise to the surface and wash his soul of pain. After a few minutes reviewing his aching heart, he wishes for the water to surge forward, only to retreat quickly, dragging his body with it, back beneath the stones.

Perhaps that was the original purpose of this place, he muses. Maybe all who entered to be cleansed drowned instead, and the sympathetic gods covered it in such a manner as to assure no one would be misled and lost again. Then again, maybe the water WAS cleansing and freed man from all pain and a malevolent god decided suffering should continue there on earth. In any case, it is covered now, and he is left lying there, waiting for release.

jason

Before I partied and flunked out of an expensive collegeuniversity, I went to a cheap college. There, I actually made Dean's List and did things like attend classes. Weird, I know. My second semester at that college, which happened to be a Fall semester, I met my first college crush. He was in my chemistry class, (convenient) which met four days a week. He was older than I, and he was finishing his Associate's Degree that semester. He was tall and kind of gangly looking, with beautiful hair. His hair was shoulder length with corkscrew curls. I loved his hair.

During the first few classes we ended up sitting in the same general area of the room. After a week or so, we started chatting. We moved a little closer to each other, seat wise. Then we moved to adjacent seats at a long table, but kept more than the usual amount of distance between the seats. Slowly, arms and legs would reach toward the other, and by the end of the semester, we sat huddled together, cozily ignoring the stupid bitch who couldn't teach to save her life. Well, I felt that way anyway. For all I know, he was pissed off that I was ruining his concentration.

The catty girls in class had a field day with us. Jason's lab partner was the first person in the class to speak to me. He was a pretty blond, athletic guy, and apparently the girls had a crush on him. He was also not so bright, so I helped him with some stuff. The girls were pissed that he was speaking to me instead of them. When I showed no interest whatsoever in pretty boy, but got closer and closer to the older hippie looking guy, they had some nice things to say. "I can't believe he still talks to her, and she talks to that other guy instead." was one of the nicer things I remember hearing. *shrugs*

The class was finished at the beginning of a school-wide lunch break. Eventually Jason and I spent this hour together almost every week. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure he just stuck around to spend time with me. I remember feeling rather like a puppy following him at first. I also remember the event that changed our connection somehow, and made me feel like he wanted me there.

My great grandmother died that semester. She was one of the few people in my family whose company I have ever enjoyed. We were very close when I was younger, but as I became a teenager, I saw her less often. Instead of staying home the day she died, I went to class. I wasn't really aware of any other options, I guess. I was very quiet and distant during chemistry, and instead of following Jason outside for lunch, I went to a rarely used hallway and sat down against the wall. Jason followed me, and sat down next to me. He asked what was wrong. I couldn't respond, other than to give him a tight, closed-lipped shake of my head. I wasn't going to cry in general. I was certainly not going to do it in front of him.

He put his book bag on the floor near me, and motioned for me to lie down and put my head on it. I did. He put his face on the floor next to mine, but with his body stretched in the opposite direction, saying nothing. Still fighting the tears, I eventually choked out that she had died. As I was lying there on the stained gray indoor/outdoor carpeting in a dimly lit hallway, a tear escaped. I furiously tried to hide it. He looked at me, and a few more leaked out, unbidden. I was starting to get frantic. He reached over, and gently wiped the tears from my face with his thumb, quietly telling me that it was OK to cry. I remember looking in his eyes, initially wanting to argue that it was not OK, but instead I thanked him quietly.

I went to the college about six months ago and was sad to see that hallway has been transformed. It's now surely well traveled, for a cafe has been installed, and the dank dark carpeting and bad lighting have been replaced by mauve and cream decorative tiles and bright lights.

************************

I wrote this nearly five years ago. (I revised it tonight slightly so some spots made more sense and I fixed verb tense a few times.) The guy in my house with a job has been ill for nearly a month now, with one of those things that makes Western medicine doctors kinda throw their hands in the air and concede defeat. I looked up acupuncture in my area, and guess who is one of two practitioners? Yup. Jason.

Tactile

Funny how memory works, isn't it? I've showered far more often than not over the past 13 years, opening and closing a shower curtain the vast majority of those times. Last week, however, as my fingers touched the shiny side of my shower curtain, I got a glimpse of John's old shower curtain instead of my usual mindless routine, and found myself momentarily transported back in time.

"Why do you have the map on your shower curtain facing inside the shower instead of out?"
"Why not?? I can see it when I'm in the shower that way."

I laughed and mentioned that I thought shower curtains were printed as decoration, rather than for personal amusement while showering. John resolutely rejected my argument. His opinion was that if he had picked out a shower curtain that he liked, why the fuck wouldn't he look at it while he showered? Didn't what he want to see on a daily basis matter more than what a possible visitor might see on rare occasion?

He was right.

I was lying with my head in his lap on his beige and white striped sofa bearing a rip with three inch-long sides of a square on one arm. I had always played with the rip. John never noticed it, but I just couldn't keep my fingers off the imperfection. For three years, without fail, when I sat on his sofa, I sat next to the hole, feeling and poking along the fraying edges of the inconsequential cosmetic imperfection. The day we were discussing shower curtains, I was either newly pregnant, or newly not, and I needed him. I needed his perspective, his practical approach to life that was mirrored in seemingly silly things like facing the shower curtain toward himself, and keeping his fingers from creating a bigger hole on his sofa.

While I don't know where he is right now, I find I still need John's acceptance and perspective. He quieted a part of my soul that needed soothing, and sometimes still needs soothing today. I still need quiet reminders to stop picking at imperfections and to enjoy what I like in my own way. I hope he is still doing those things for himself.

Dealbreaker

You can never tell what will push someone over the edge between "acceptable" and "I've had enough of this shit". Sometimes you just assume that if someone has put up with ridiculous stuff, just about anything will be OK. Sometimes life reminds you of that whole saying about assuming making an ass out of you and me.

David was able to overlook the fact that I didn't want to leave the bar with him the first night we spoke until I finished doing dishes, even though I didn't work there. He was able to overlook the fact that when we got to the hotel room that magically appeared for us, I forgot to remove my tampon before sex and screeched and screamed at the top of my lungs about how much it hurt. He didn't seem too put out by the fact that I was pissed off to learn the next morning that I had apparently offered to drive him somewhere and I kept muttering about how I hadn't wanted to sleep with anyone I just met ever again.

On the contrary, he was exceedingly polite and inviting. I often visited him at his mother's apartment, where he was staying for a month or so in between races. When I sucked his dick in the living room where a two foot pace would've enabled his mother or grandfather to see us, swallowed, choked, ran to the sink and then spit, sputtering "My Gawd! What the hell do you eat?? That tasted HORRIBLE!!! I've never tasted anything LIKE it!!" he actually seemed rather amused.

He more than tolerated a drunken night visiting his friends in a town five and a half hours away that resulted in me saying the wrong name when his friend asked if I even knew who I was there with. He started forgiving me rather quickly after he realized I had no memory of accusing him of taking advantage of me. He didn't even get too annoyed when his grandfather fell ill on Christmas Eve and instead of being alone in the apartment we had to go to the bar bathroom.

He was rather good natured about my little rant on New Year's Eve concerning sex in a car, especially in the fucking cold. He even laughed the next night when his friend's dog knocked open the door and started licking my tit and I freaked out.

The next night, however, was the last night. What the fuck else could I have done to this guy?

I tickled his butt in the bar.

OK, so it was repeatedly and in front of his friends and he asked me nicely to stop about ten times, but hey, who would've known he had limits?

******Ahhhh, I wrote this years ago for that other place I used to blog. Today, while chatting with one of the mothers at homeschool co-op, we realized that her husband's best friend is the guy in this piece. Awkward.

fluffy undies

Yeah, yeah, got sucked in again. Read all about undies here.

Underwear Survey from Quizopolis.com

What's your favorite underwear you own?

None. I don't give a fuck about underwear. There were a few pairs that actually got me laid a few times, but they also gave me crotch rot, so ... I have sensitive junk, like I can't switch toilet paper or soap without issues, so all cotton, white, boring ass shit keeps me smelling better. I can pretend I look fuckable and stink and scratch, or be boring. *shrugs*


What's the worst pair of underwear you own?

Hmm, I think I tossed the flowered granny panties I accidentally bought once. My ex thought my left behind cartoon character underwear were going to get him arrested for being a pedo if he ever got raided, so in his opinion, those were the worst. Not sure why he thought he was going to get raided ...


What's the most embarrassing underwear you own?

The kind where the dog ate the crotch and for some stupid reason I keep forgetting to toss the bitches, keep washing them and end up wearing them because I am lazy and wait until the last pair is used to wash more.


What's your favorite color of underwear?

Unstained


What color underwear will you not wear?

I wear underwear my dog ate, do you think I have standards?


What's your favorite underwear on a member of the opposite sex?

Commando


What underwear do you hate seeing on a member of the opposite sex?

Any?


Have you ever lost your underwear while out somewhere?

Yes, yes I have. On several occasions, usually if they weren't bunched up in my pants/clothes, I didn't even bother looking before trying to sneak out. Of course, that was generally a failure, since I had no clue where I was, was still drunk and needed to ask for directions home. (Once from a whole ... 4ish blocks from "home".) I also once drunkenly sharted and decided tossing my underwear while wearing a dress with an unpredictable ass was a good idea. I was lucky it turned out relatively OK.


Have you ever found someone's underwear while out somewhere?

Yes. More than once, even. Apparently I'm not the only one with the aforementioned shart/toss idea BUT *I* wrapped mine up and placed them in the garbage, thank you very much.


How often do you buy new underwear?

Not often enough. I keep putting it off until I lose weight. But I've gained weight since my initial decision to wait until my ass was smaller to spend money on it, so I either have to get to work, or give in.


Do you buy underwear for anyone but yourself?

Yes. Clone Wars briefs yesterday, even.


Where do you like to buy your underwear?

Wherever I happen to be when I break down and grab some.


Do you have a favorite brand of underwear?


Whatever the dog hasn't eaten.


Is there anywhere you refuse to buy underwear?

Yeah, Amelia's thrift store idea is a good one.


Do you own any novelty underwear?

Technically, the dog created crotchless for me ... Hmm, actually, I might still have a leather set around, not that they'd fit anymore ...


Have you ever bought novelty underwear for anyone?

I don't know. I keep having horrid sock/thong in leopard print visions, but luckily, I've supressed whatever it is causing those visions enough to doubt my role in purchasing them.


Have you ever worn someone else's underwear?

Plenty of times. I always forget to pack em.


Has anyone else ever worn your underwear?

Yeah, but not often.


What type of underwear do you wear most?

Cotton.

Is there any kind of underwear you refuse to wear?

Well, um, I'd like to say granny panties, but I think now if it was granny or eaten, I'd pick the bloomers.

Take This Survey at Quizopolis.com http://www.quizopolis.com/survey/4614/Underwear-Survey/

15 Qs

15 Would You Rather Questions Survey from Quizopolis.com

Be a poison tester or suicide bomber?

- Poison tester. Normal healthy food doesn't agree with me, what are the odds that poison would actually harm me?

Fat and short or fat and tall

- I am already fat and sorta tall, why shrink? Then I'd never be able to say shit like, "Your face only reaches my boobs, bring it." again.

Wet and cold or dry and hot

- Dry and hot. Or wet and hot really, just FUCKING HOT. I'm sticking with Amelia's answer.

Vampire or a cat

- Ugh. Blood or fish for dinner?? Hmm, I guess vampire, at least then I could have hot food every now and then.

Be george lopez or brad pitt

- Brad Pitt. Really, who *doesn't* want the chance to bang Angelina Jolie??

Eat sand or dirt

- I've had sand in my mouth and it just stays there, gritty and clinking. I'll take dirt, nice clean dirt.

Be 30 or 1

- Um, let's go with being 1 again, but the 1 in whatever country it is that considers you 1 when you're born.

Pro skater boarder or singer

- Do I have a good dental plan? If so, I'll take skill and balance.

Eat metal or bugs

- Definitely metal. I've had enough Goldschlagger in my life to either have already shit the equivalent to (of?) a gold nugget, or have one hanging around inside me, waiting to escape. ("Yes, I have gold to exchange, but the extraction process isn't going to be fun for any of us.")

Be a monkey or wolf man

- Hmmm, fling poop or howl at the moon?? I guess I'll howl.

Work at google or bing

- Whichever pays more and requires less. Duh.

Make a board game or video game

- Board game would be much easier.

Mini cooper or mustang

- I miss my MINI. *sniffle* Only if it's turbo though.

Dead or alive

- Sure, I prefer my dinner to be dead.

Singer or actor

- A singer, but a singer like the guys in the Gorillaz, where they use lots of computer shit to distort the voice and no one ever sees me.

There are other people doing this one today, but I'm too lazy to look for a link right now.

Edit:: Ahh, I was asked nicely, so I'm throwing some blood, sweat and tears into it and linking to JesterQueen. ;)

4AM

The phone rang at 4AM. She smirked.

"Sure, I'll come drive you home. You do know your house is closer to the bar than theirs, right? Shh, I'm just busting your balls. I know what you really want."


Trifextra-- 33 words, including "The phone rang at 4AM"

uh

The shock of his death rattled us all somewhere so deep we kept trying to rebury the pain, afraid that if it was allowed to surface, it would never again be content simmering deep within the confines of our hearts. Or maybe that was just me and I'm projecting, but I don't think so. When the guy who occasionally became the butt of "liver failure" jokes, partially out of concern, but mostly because we all expected him to be there forever, had a lethal heart attack out of nowhere at the ripe "old" age of thirty, pause was given. Questions concerning who dies and when and why bubbled into our brains.

Beyond and behind the immediate grief came creeping thoughts like "It could have just as easily been me. We ate Burger King and drank together and passed out on the same wretched sofa every day for years. Hell, he paid for me to do that for years." The future I was never sure I wanted no longer seemed to be a given. With his death, at least a few of us pondered our own lives more than we ever had before.




Trifecta's word this week is "wretched" and I seriously think I broke my brain. I can't even think of a title.

Doom, doom doom doom, doom!

Stress is no stranger in my life. I do homeschool a very, uh, active child on a very small budget. We all have stress though. Usually I can happily feed my stress pizza and put it to sleep. Really, my stress loves pizza. I can placate whatever crap is being thrown my way with cheesy goodness and go back to, hmmm ... doing nothing.

Today though, I have an unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. It's a feeling of impending doom, like the world is about to implode. OK, maybe not the whole world, but my world. I don't usually get this feeling, and I don't remember ever getting it wrong, so it's rather worrisome. Ironic how unexplainable anxiety creates more anxiety, no?

Maybe it's just some sort of gastrointestinal distress taking it's sweet time manifesting fully. Awesome. It's very early in the day for me and I've already decided the world's going to implode or my ass is going to explode. I guess it's nice to have options and expectations for the day.

Dear Gumby,

I can't believe it's been 11 years since you've been gone. Sometimes it feels like it's been that long since I've had fun. I know it hasn't, but it's sporadic now, and different. I can't go back to our bar without a stab of pain because you're not there. In fact, dear Donna sold the place last year. After the initial feeling of, "Oh man, all the fucking times Gumby and Spar tried to buy it and got turned down are really annoying now," my second reaction was horror over the idea that the new owners might take down your little memorial on the wall, and that the monthly calendar would never again note your birth and death days. No one there now knows you died in the bar you loved. Ouch. That hurts the most. To them, you'll be nothing but a cranky ghost screeching in a Krusty the Clown voice for your "pint of Dewars, no ice!!" That is, if they even hear you at all. I hope your haunting has taken on a feverish pitch, rather than slowing down.

My pain over missing you has slowed down. I don't even usually feel guilty about that. You don't mind, right? No, I didn't think so. Despite all the crap you gave me, and everyone else, I know you cared about me. Chris even said you were in love with me. I think he was just stinging after I rejected his offer to take me to your funeral. He had never offered to be there for me like that before, but it was already too late, and the idea of how pissed you would've been to see him there drove that home like nothing else could have. I'm sure you're glad I told him that. His response was that he was surprised to know that you didn't like him. When I pointed out that you knew most of the things that he had done during our relationship, he said, "Ahhh, it all makes sense now. I saw the way he looked at you when you weren't looking, but now I know he was in love with you." It has never occurred to me before now that he wasn't being honest. I guess it doesn't matter either way though, does it? I liked the idea of you knowing I'd turned him down because you disliked the way he treated me. I wish I'd done it while you were alive.

Anyway, I'm freezing and rambling and losing my train of thought, sure signs of sobriety. I hope you're drinking with impunity and enjoying the show.

perv

Linking up for Trifextraagain. Warning:: All I saw in the picture was raunch, pure and simple. I swear it's the missing pants. I've toned it down as much as I possibly could, but really, I spent too much time in fraternity houses and bars, so if you're easily offended or grossed out by inappropriate sexuality, just skip it. :)








Well, I don't really care how exactly you uh, ... fit. Please don't ever call me in here again unless you are wearing pants or I'm moving. The rent's not cheap enough for that.

Boiled Down

I could spend a lifetime retelling my lifetime. Many words could be used to utter meaning into grievances, passions and actions. I could simplify and save time by merely muttering the word "fool".

Trifectagain. Word of the week is "fool".

running

Last week I decided we didn't really need groceries and that the handy little feature my car insurance offers for deferring payment a few days would come in handy. In lieu of these items, I got a treadmill. (On a side note, I really need to cancel my gym membership. I haven't been there in a full year, I'm not quite sure how long of a contract I signed ... ) Ostensibly, the dogs would also benefit from this purchase.

Since accidentally owning a dingo, we have been trying to train her to properly use a leash, to no avail. She's just too damn fast (up to 30mph) and our pedestrian speeds simply annoy her. Despite possessing webbed feet, she is afraid of water, so swimming to get some energy out never worked either. Her natural state of affairs is ramped up and nervous. After watching a few too many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, a lightbulb lit. Oooh, the dingo could use a treadmill. Right.

So far, this idea has failed miserably. Just like with the swimming idea, our yappy ball of fur who could care less about expending energy on anything useful is much more interested. The dingo cowers, the yappy dog yaps and bats at the treadmill. Fun stuff. I doubt Cesar's crew would fit in my garage, otherwise, I might try to get him to teach the wacko. Maybe one of these days? Yeah, I know. I doubt it too.

I have used the grocery replacement regularly though. After convincing my son that screaming, "Run Fat Ass, Run!!!" while watching me was not good for his health, it has been much more pleasant for me. In fact, I have shaved nearly four minutes off my mile time this week. The bad news is that I'd have to shave another ten or so to make it an even slightly respectable time. :) Considering I have never run on a treadmill before, I'm OK with that. I've walked on them often. Forty plus minutes four days a week with my own personal trainer the summer- winter a year ago. I just refused to actually let go of the machine, so it never counted as running. Walking at 7mph caused me great pain, and is probably how I injured my knee, ending my training. *shrugs*

At first I listened to Alice in Chains, which was a Bad Idea. Nothing like suicidal thoughts and drug lust to get you motivated to move. :S The next day I switched to Rage Against the Machine. That was better. Rage gets me moving, always. (They also take the blame for my multiple speeding tickets one year when I played nothing but "Evil Empire" in my car.) After a few days, I started to think too much. I was pushing myself to run another 15 seconds while being motivated by political wrongdoings and General world evil? Could I really use oppression as a reason to make my ass stop jiggling? It just seemed kind of wrong.

Then I switched to 50 Cent. Now, I can imagine myself as a chunked up Fiddy trying to outrun the guys in his neighborhood who want to kick his ass for being such a cocky twat. This seems to work well for me. I mean, who can't picture a little extra jiggle in 50's ass? I suspect next I will have to become DMX, cracked out and running from the cops. There's nowhere to go but up from there.

twi-lite

Girl moves to land of fog and rain, hates life, meets sparkly killer, falls in love, gets stalked and carried everywhere. Sparkly killer's family hates whiny, clumsy girl with strong aroma. They suck.


Here's another for Trifextra. The whole series blended together in my head, (Yes, yes I did just admit I read them all.) but I'm pretty sure this sticks to simply the first book.

belle

She only agreed to see him to help her father. He was mean, needed a shower and grooming. Eventually, she began to enjoy his company. With her encouragement, he revealed his outer beauty.


Trifextra time again! This weekend, the challenge is to retell a famous story in exactly 33 words.

jar of flies

Trifecta's word this time is "safe", and I kinda cheated (yet again), but, eh.


We spent most of our time together at my (parents') house. The few instances we spent time at his house stand out vividly in my mind, even though nothing special happened. I think his father's everyday things, still occupying their home and spilling out of their medicine cabinet three years after his passing, alarmed me enough to pay attention.

Usually we went there so I could use his computer. He'd put on music, I'd complain about it, and he'd launch into some dissertation that I barely heard, let alone comprehended. He had taught himself six instruments by ear. I am tone deaf. You'd think the "winner" in these arguments would be clear, but when the basis of one person's argument is, "This shit is getting on my fucking nerves Turn It Off!!" things can get a little murky. At least that's the way it happened in his basement, anyway.

One band that could always get me to shut up was Alice in Chains. I remember when he bought the "Jar of Flies" EP. One of my favorite songs opened with the words, "I want to travel south this year. I ... Oh I won't prevent safe passage here" The EP was released in January, I always want to flee to warmer climates during winter, so it worked for me, actual meaning of the song be damned. Simpleminded as I can be, I loved the plastic flies encased in the edge of the CD case. I'd tilt it this way and that, watching the fake flies jumbling together, stuck, but with just enough room to allow them to crash into each other. Those flies were greatly symbolic of how I felt about my life at the time, but I'm not going to pretend I was cognizant enough to realize that then. I preferred the simple idea of listening to stuff that didn't suck while playing with a toy.

bedroom door

I remember you from then.  How could I not?  You moved me in a way I could never describe, nor forget.  Something deep inside stirred when I looked at you.  When I touched you, I forgot the world.

I remember watching you, just completely mesmerized by your music.  Watching your fingers, they way they moved over your guitar strings. The shy smile that couldn't hide the eagerness behind your eyes.

When our skin met, I was transported to another world, a world where nothing but us existed.  I remember slamming up against a wall next to your kitchen, the force of our appetites burning through my skin.

I wanted to move to the bedroom.  The door was partially open, it was calling me, inviting me in.  I wanted nothing more than to remove all of our clothes and get lost in that room for days.  I would've given up anything at that moment, just to have you inside me.  Just to see how that animal magnetism I felt through your mouth and fingertips could consume my whole body.

The bedroom door was next to the main door.  Instead of moving towards the bedroom, I found myself being moved into the hallway.  I wanted nothing more than to stay holed up behind that other door.  Instead I found myself outside your apartment, blindly fumbling my way to my car, never to return to you there.

I wonder if I'll ever know what happens behind your almost opened door.

***************

This week's Trifextra was a love scene, minus 33 commonly used words. I admit, I kinda cheated, as a whiny kid is not conducive to writing love scenes, and used an old piece I had written, replacing a few words.

jack handey

He used to quote "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" on a regular basis, each time trying to improve upon his deadpan. (“If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.” ) His eyes always betrayed his amusement, his theatrical gestures hinted at practice alone, in front of a mirror. Sometimes he couldn't make it all the way through a quote without grinning wildly, eyebrow raising slightly, watching for my reaction. More often than not, I'd furrow my drunken brow in confusion. He'd start to explain, only to be interrupted. "I get it. I just don't get why you think it's so damn amusing."

Funny Bone

I hadn't written anything since the months after we first met when I started typing away nonsense to post to my.spa.ce. Then he became my friend, and I started writing to him, without saying a word. I didn't always tell him my heart, I liked to tell him fun drinking stories or how my ass was doing that day, you know, the usual. Every now and then I'd slip in a paragraph or two hoping he'd feel my longing. He didn't.

After a friend was offended by something I wrote, with no intention of being offensive, I started a new page. I had made a few blogging friends and invited them to the new profile. He was the only person who knew me in person I told about the new page. There, I wrote to him more. I spilled and spilled and spilled some more. I wasn't sure I had any guts left, the floor was so messy with them.

Then he asked to meet up again.

I was terrified. This man had read the contents of my heart, soul and bowels. It took 30 seconds to get over that fear. I kept spilling, he kept reading, and I kept wondering when I would decide he knew enough, and silence my fingers. I never really decided he knew enough. After things fell apart, sometimes I'd write something I didn't want him to see, and I'd post it here. (Shit, there goes my secret.) Those times were few and far between though.

In spilling it all for Patrick to know, I met quite a few people I still treasure and "talk" to now. Then I stopped writing for a little while. Then he was murdered and I wrote regularly again. Then I got tired of being all angsty and stopped. Then one of my favorite and most treasured blogger friends passed away, and I wrote again, but sporadically. Throughout all this, I somehow stuck my funny bone up my ass or something. Not sure how it happened, maybe I've told all the funny stories, maybe not. In any case, I hope to be digging that bone out of my ass again soon. It might take awhile to angle it the correct way in order to fully extricate the bitch, but I'll get there. I will find something funny to say again.

Story in 3

She sank to the ground, and began running the mulch through her fingers, hoping to feel some barely tangible particle of his soul that might have gotten trapped there as it left his body. The door to the place he called home opened, revealing a slightly familiar pair of quizzical eyes still rimmed in raw pain, and noticing her for the first time. "I'm sorry, but I loved him too," was all she could offer as an explanation.


It's Trifecta time again! This week, the rule was to tell a story in 3 sentences. The variety of responses to these challenges amazes me.

14

All I ate today was popcorn and jelly beans. What am I? 14 and basking in the glow of being left home alone for the day?? Oh wait, I had a Pepsi too. Apparently the thought of dissolved mice in my beverage wasn't as strong a deterrent as I had hoped it'd be. *shrugs*

My kid came up with some really wonderful quotes recently. I'll share.

He woke up at 6:30 one morning, sick to his stomach. I had fallen asleep a mere hour before this, so I SaaS hoping he'd moan and groan a bit, flush and go back to sleep. I should never hope for things. He moaned, and groaned and whined so much I got out of bed to see how he was doing. He sent me away, saying I didn't want to see his piles of poop making mountains above the water. You're probably right kid. He flushed, explaining that he wasn't finished yet, it was just too gross to keep around. Next, he proceeded to tell me he was shitting turds the size of eyeballs. Exactly what I wanted to hear. He was awake until 1:00AM the next morning, after being sent to bed at 8:00PM. At about midnight, he snuck to the kitchen and stole some pretzels to eat. I demanded them back. The response was classic. "I'll give you the pretzels back in a little bit -- when I SHIT THEM ON YOUR HEAD!!!" I kinda lost it and went on a tangent about how if I didn't beat him before he finally fell asleep I should get a fucking mother of the year award. Uh huh.

Another good quote was, "Is your name Farty McFarterson? If so, you have won an all expenses paid trip to Shitland, located in New York City." I wonder why none of the homeschool moms want to set up play dates with him?

He also came into my room, and instead of asking if I wanted him to shut the door on his way out, inquired wether I wanted "to repel some ass". *sigh* Um, at least he's creative?

33words (times two)

I've written two 33 word stories for Trifecta's Triextra over here. The rules were simple: Write a love story in exactly 33 words. Of course, I can't abide by 100% rule compliance, so I wrote two.

1--- The first time they met, oceans swelled and crashed, car tires squealed, jets flew, and bugs crawled, but the only thing she would ever notice near him was his heart calling her home.




2 -- He joked that the faces she made upon meeting him would make a story to amuse their kids. Their babies never drew breath, and their explorations left the fertile grounds scorched and barren.

January Sucks

I've been trying, and trying and trying some more to come up with something good, something wholly funny and just plain fun that ever happened to me in any January. I'm drawing a blank. I can think of many, many things that happened in Januarys, but they're not the things I'd like to remember while I'm hoping the days grow longer soon.

I met John in January. I've covered that already. He now falls into the bittersweet category anyway.

That's it. That's my whole list of things that don't suck that happened in January. A lot of the things I remember aren't horrible, but they're such reminders of ... Something I don't recall as fun at the moment. Some of the events make for the kind of stories that would make you shake your head, half in laughter, half in disgust and wonder what to make of the whole convoluted mess. I don't feel like being mired in the "holy shit" of it all.

I started a new college in January. There was a blizzard that January. I got lost on my way to class every single time I even bothered to try to attend class that January. Hmm, not fun. Well, it had it's slightly amusing moments. I mostly just remember it as gray now.

I got dumped in a bar for tickling my boyfriend's butt one too many times in front of his friends in January. That's kinda funny. The fact that my ex who made me feel guilty and like a horrible human being was there to witness it kinda lessens the fun. As does the part where I went home with some random stranger that night who ended up being hung like, like ... uh, I guess one of those dildos you see and do an involuntary giggle, wondering how that would feel good. Yeah, that part was kinda funny, kinda pathetic.

Too bad it led to me pissing blood for a week, the final straw coming when I saw only blood and screamed in pain, while visiting a friend who lived four hours away from me. My friend came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. We stopped to see my daughter's father, who had gotten out of the Air Force "for us, and our daughter". The first thing we saw when walking in the door of his mother's house was his infant son, who hadn't been mentioned in the fairy tale he spun.

Then the pain pills led to some very interesting nights that are pretty amusing in a microcosm. As a whole, and part of one week, and the end of that particular month? Yeah, banging the resident crackhead in the bar bathroom is even more pathetic than if it had been part of some random time frame.

There are some pretty crappy pregnancy stories involving Januarys. There's just nothing funny about any of them.

Let's see ... I had fun with Patrick in January. But not much, he pretty much pushed me out of his life in January. The funniest part of that night involved something terribly not funny in retrospect as well. Well, it's one of those things that's funny in a "holy shit" kinda way, again.

Um ...

My boyfriend found out he had cancer in January. I dumped him later in the month, partially because of how he and his family acted about that whole deal. Really, when I'm the most rational and ready to confront reality person in the room, there's a big fucking problem. Who pretends a cancerous tumor the size of a freaking baseball doesn't exist while it's being removed, then pretends it never existed as the doctor is explaining it to them, and then ignores the whole fucking thing as soon as the patient wakes up from the operation?? The guy had surgery that took place through his penis, and they had him taking his nephew to the aquarium less than two hours later. Hello?!? (He was actually perfectly fine by the time I dumped him, btw). Yeah, nothing funny there either.

Yeah, OK. Just fuck January. Unless I make something ridiculously wonderful happen in the next five days or so, I think I'm going to hibernate through next January. I bet I have some funny shit that happened in February though ...

Father Jared

One of my old fraternity buddies is now a Cath.ol.ic pri.est. No, it was not a service fraternity. In fact, while Father Jared was a member, they got kicked off campus, then disbanded totally by both the university and the national fraternity headquarters, or whatever you want to call it. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it, and I think the seminar.ry and all the shit they have to go through afterwards takes a minimum of six years.

The first time I heard he was taking this particular life path, I was at an outdoor, town-wide music festival. A group of us were gathered outside the beer tent, and someone made a joke about his new vocational path. I was confused, because he was never a particularly caring, or tactful person. In fact, he had a big mouth and told everyone any privileged information he heard. I was pondering these personality traits and how ill suited they are for a supposed leader and confidante. Of course, the little boy and gay jokes were made. I tried to keep it civil, and just mentioned that I supposed he'd finally given up on women. My natural follow up to that was, "I guess that means he's still a virgin, huh?"

Everyone stopped and stared at me. One guy said, "You know he's not." I thought about it a bit, trying to remember a possible suspect. I couldn't come up with one that should be obvious to me, so I asked who. They told me it was me.

Now, I've been drunk. I've been blacked out and woken up naked in strange places, (and occasionally not so strange places) and assumed how my memory hole was filled. *ahem* Not once had this guy ever been in a position where I'd even question myself. I remember him trying, by using a "come tuck me in" trick that had eventually worked for one of his pledge brothers. I also remember turning my head so he slobbered all over my cheek as I stood in his dorm hallway (three doors away from where I went in with someone else) and then went home.

I remembered being his date to numerous fraternity functions when he couldn't convince anyone else to go with him. I remember both of us leaving with other people, and no hard feelings. I still did not remember de-virginizing Jared. I said so. No one quite believed me, because apparently he told them all I had during his freshman year. The other guys had been mentioning it, apparently out of my earshot, for the rest of their college days. Except it never happened.

They asked why I thought they called him Papa Jared. I shrugged and said it was because he was nice to my daughter and made sure no one said anything remotely off color near her, and tried to teach her how to play pool. I guess they thought I was smarter than I am, because no one believed that truth. Eventually, I pointed out that I got a huge kick out of de-virginizing guys, and I surely would have remembered if I had, and most likely would have brought it up in conversation repeatedly. The truth of this statement hit them, and they begrudgingly let the topic die. I'm not sure how many of the guys still think I slept with him, but ...

All those years I put up with his crap because I felt bad for him not fitting in, even amongst the misfits, and he was just perpetuating a lie. I got ragged on all the time, and it didn't bother me. Most people were just kidding, or thought it was fun to see how much I'd take before my claws came out, and I'd start ripping new assholes. It was always different with Jared though. I never felt like he was doing it to include me, but rather, to include himself. His "jokes" had a sharp edge that made even his fraternity brothers pause. Then he'd hug me, or pat my back and make sure to tell everyone he was just kidding and that they all loved me. Too bad he missed out on the fact that the same was obvious until he went too far. I always let it go because I could tell he was just trying to be impressive, or fit in, or something foreign to me that I could almost put my finger on, but not quite.

Anyway, this is a very long winded way of saying that I find it horribly ironic (for lack of a better word) that a man who has taken a vow to never have a family feels he can control the rights of other people's family making decisions. I'm having a very hard time letting his youthful bad decisions stay in the past when I have the opportunity to feel like I'm showing his par.ishioners how little he knows about life, and leadership and compassion, and how listening to him is just foolish. I know it is worthless though. I know the faithful will ignore or excuse the same things about him that I myself have ignored and excused. I know I will look petty and vindictive against a man with bad character who is now seen as a pillar of his society. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that everyone outside of his church knows he's still an asshole. ;)

set adrift

I'm bored, lonely, and suffering from insomnia. This usually leads me to reminisce, and write. I'm tired of remembering when I had a life worth writing about. I want a life worth thinking about and writing about now. I'm just not sure how to accomplish that. Less than a month ago, I thought I would accomplish that. Now I'm stuck on the pause button, yet again.

I mentioned to a friend today that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to my Tuesday volunteer duties, which posed a problem mostly because finding a substitute is your own problem and not many of the women there talk to me. He responded that as far as he could tell, women never really talked to me. I've been told this numerous times in numerous ways before. I'm not really sure what the deal is, but it's true.

When I first gained weight after my son was born, I noticed more women spoke to me. I just figured it was because I had a baby, and therefore automatically became approachable, but I wasn't always with him. Then I lost a lot of weight. No one spoke to me then. No, wait, that's not true. Teenagers thought I was their age so they spoke to me, and women above retirement age spoke to me regularly. Then I gained a little bit of weight back, and once again, women spoke to me. I had my ass grabbed by women (bartenders, no less) in bars, I was told I'd be a good reason to try same-sex sex, and just generally approached by women. Then some more weight stuck to my ass. Now very few people speak to me, and no one approaches me. Awesome.

I wonder what the deal is, and whether it says more about me or more about other people. I suspect pleasantly plump is just below a certain acceptable threat level. Too far above that level, no contact. Too far below, why bother? I've pretty much been the same the whole time. *sigh* It seems ridiculous to even think that, because I'm never one to put any effort into my looks, or think that I look good, ever. I'm pretty sure it's not just a figment of my imagination though.

Why is it so hard to make friends after a certain age? I don't want or need drinking buddies anymore, but someone who used to drink and whore it up, and now tries to maintain some sort of "normalcy" while still retaining a personality would be much appreciated. I know people who have never given it up, and I know people who pretend they've never done a damn thing that would be considered "adult fun" in their whole lives. Why is it so hard to let go of part of it, but not all of it? Maybe because if you do it that way, you end up still awake at 5:15AM, writing crap and wondering why life has to be so difficult.

new health week 1

I decided to give up gluten, dairy and sugar for the new year. I feel like shit all the time and have about 60lbs to lose. (I lost it about six years ago, but it found me again. I think this time I'm going to have to hide a little harder.) Yeah, fun. Being the idiot I am, I bought tons of crap to eat for New Year's Eve. I forgot to buy decent stuff to eat the next day and I didn't finish all the cheese dip and pretzels from the day before, so I finished that off on what was supposed to be my first day. *shrugs* I wobble when I wiggle, can barely stand up without OTC pain meds, and a lot of them, and I've been farting a lot. Oh yes, I've got some zits the size of dimes going on. WooHoo!! Looking and feeling good!! Or not. Two Aleve and four Motrin is standard, and allows me to hobble about a bit. I wake up choking on phlegm nightly.

Day 2: I decided that I'm going to wait to give up my beloved Cherry Pepsi. It helps get rid of migraines, blah, blah, fucking blah. Ate properly all day. Vegan Mac & Cheese with brown rice pasta for dinner. Wasn't crazy about it, so I only had a little. Will avoid the yellow mustard in the recipe next time. Remembered to take Aleve and Motrin before the pain was ridiculous.

Day 3: Forgot to take Motrin and Aleve. Read an article in which PepsiCo states that mice couldn't be found whole in cans of their soda because they'd melt into goo. Eeeewwww. Drank a few more sips, and put it down, disgusted. The bubbles were getting on my nerves, so I finished it, but that was my only Pepsi of the day. Pain was ridiculous so I had two left over hard pretzels. Decided going vegan and all the other shit was too much, had organic grass fed chip steak for dinner. Blech. Maybe I will avoid beef. Sprouted wheat rolls don't count, right? Had three pieces of leftover candy around 10:00, but I'm still doing better than usual.

Day 4: woke up.with a headache. Must remember to take pain meds before I give in and eat away the pain. Ugh. No pain killers will make this plague better. Yuck. Sick. Must not give in, may as well get detox symptoms over with while I'm sick, right? Ate pretzels and drank soda. Fun.

Day 5: feel almost human again. No soda in the house, so that's good. Rice w/seaweed and ume plum vinegar. Tofu w/avocado and spinach on sprouted wheat. Pepperoni. Tongue split at the tip. Kinda like a big paper cut. Ouch. No sugar. Head killing me. Blech. Blech. Blech.

Day 6: I only got about three hours of sleep last night, but I made it all day yesterday without cheating. Surprisingly, I feel better than I have all week. In the midst of my painful tossing and turning, I realized that if I cheat, all that pain and annoyance will be for nothing and I'll start back at square one again. That idea doesn't sound appealing, at all. Also helping this is a severe money shortage. I can't buy soda if I wanted to, we're that damn broke right now. Ugh. Good thing we have lots of healthy food in the house, right? Right? Yeah. I know. I'm not buying it either. WooHoo!! Made it through today without cheats too!! I *did* eat a potato with chicken (which is a no-no for my son), and I made pan fried popcorn chicken (with organic brown rice coating), but fuck, was it delicious. Meat will be cut out too, I just need to eat something in the transitional phase. At this point, I fully realize how dumb it would be to cheat now. Two whole days without doesn't sound that impressive, until you try to do it. Bitches who do it all the time must be fucking crazy. Right, cuz I'm not aiming for all the time myself. *sigh* Just call me a crazy bitch. Hopefully I'll at least be a hot crazy bitch soon enough. I need to get laid.

Day 7. Only four hours of sleep again, but I can walk, so that's good. Starting to run out of food that looks appealing and is easy to grab, but I made it without cheats. Now if I can just find a good gluten free pretzel recipe, I think I'll be set. Might try making rice crackers tomorrow. Fun stuff. Hopefully I can smell things properly soon, I'm having a hard time cooking without my nose. Oooh, just realized I didn't take any pain meds today. Huh. Will you look at that? Uh, 3 days down, who the hell knows how many more to go.