weird how this wave seems to crash down on all of us at the same time...

"so here i am counting down the days 'til california comes."

may i have your attention, please

so i have taken into account the BILLIONS of suggestions from everyone, and decided what book #2 will be for the book club.

could you smell the sarcasm on that one? phew.

leave me a comment and and/or an email if you want to lead me on into believing you are interested again.

annoying!

i hate that sweetie honey suger baby crap. make a little effort. try some creativity.

unisexual nicknames that have lost their novelty should be outlawed.

so far i have found poptart, skankbutt, bugzy and nugget to be perfectly wonderful and meaningful pet names... and i approve.

this getting hired on the spot thing is really, really cool.

pardon me whilst i go study my new menu, bar and wine lists.

!!!!!!

Reflections:

If there is one thing that I have learned on this trip it’s that some people just aren’t magical. Even in the most fucking magical place on earth.

In fact, I think that they would be more suited in stall #2. I wish they would go there and stay there being shitty for all of eternity.

But they won’t. Instead they line MY streets of Epcot and the Magic Kingdom, smacking their children because they are secretly just jealous of their ability to have more fun. They sit on their motorized wheelchair thingies and stuff their faces with overpriced fried lard and complain that the seats on Space Mountain are too small. They cut in the long ass lines that people wait in for hours and then throw a hissy-fit when someone makes them wait 2 seconds for anything. They drag their feet over the yellow brick road and make fun of Dorothy’s slippers. They accuse It’s a Small World of being one long, boring sexual innuendo. They yell out smart-ass, inappropriate comments in front of 4 year olds who thank god, will be too young to remember this expensive as fuck experience anyway.

They avoid meeting the Disney characters and talk crap about how lame it must be to walk around in a dumb suit all day. They pull the flowers off the carefully shaped and trimmed hedges and litter in the man-made lakes and streams. They don’t tip their servers because it’s Disney World and they must be getting paid shitloads anyway. They wine and complain about how hot it is, how tired they are and how they just want to go back to the hotel. They don’t sing along with the soundtracks being played throughout the parks and on the stages.

They don’t fucking say excuse me every single damn time they bump into me and they roll their eyes at me because I actually get excited about the way the side walk lights up when I stand on it or how I stop mid sentence to take a picture of the view in front of me or how I run to play in the squirting Tiki masks with the 2 year olds or how I want to see the Voyage of the Little Mermaid AND eat cotton candy while I watch or how I belt out the lyrics to I Just Can’t Wait to be King or at my evil giggle about eating a Donald Duck shaped lollipop.

I had an excellent time in FL. The kids were great. The performances were great. The parade was the biggest rush I’ve had in a long time. Grad Night was awesome. Seeing Simple Plan for free on a stage in front of Cinderella’s Castle was absolutely mind-blowing. The bus rides were hilarious. The steakhouse in Japan was one of the finest eating experiences I have ever had. The late night jogs around the lake in back of our hotel were more than therapeutic. The blisters on my feet are trophies and my sunburn lines are sexy.

But damn it all to hell, people! There is something wrong with you if you can’t just shut the fuck up and take in some of the happiness you paid for.

synchronized swimming

originally written on 4-20-04. modified to fit this screen.

elongate
the mind's ability
to concentrate

on rhythms in words
kept in jars
like pickled beets
and body parts
long since removed
from the soul they once
clinged to

we dance
s l o w e r
than the music playing
and don't mind when
the earth's tempo slows
to match our own

but it figures
that the song is over
just in time
for love to begin


shakedowns
are synchronized
with top 40
hip-hop breakdowns

to add the element
of art
to the violence
we glorify
and romanticize

because we are so jaded
love isn't enough
to be romantic about
anymore

blood and pain
being the more appropriate
blockbuster focus

like love doesn't hurt
and bleed enough
on its own.

first off, happy burfday adam!

second off, i'm off.

to the happiest place on earth. see you next week.

tootles. love.

i was all ready to go to sleep ...

when the adrenaline rush of a good fight came flooding in to wake me up.

so... now that it is over... i shall do laundry, blog and listen to D12. but only because i know it'll piss kia off.

i am just so good at pissing people off and disappointing them. like... i RULE at it.

should we make a list of the people just from the last 2 days that i have had issues with? and by issues i mean had something to do with them either yelling, guilt tripping, crying, snapping or ragging on me. i know you are shaking your head no, but this is my rant and i want to call everyone out.

don.
brian.
lindz.
that guy i told off at the bar. he deserved it, though.
my mom.
my grandmother.
tina.
kinya.
shi chang.
my cat.
ken.
mike.
dorothy.
melissa.

and really... why stop there? these are only the confirmed ones. i'm sure that the following people i interacted with this weekend have issues with me too but either were too nice to bring it up or they just haven't gotten to me yet.

kristie.
matt.
nab.
rick.
my dad.
joey.
robin.
david.
lori.
mike.

i have decided that in the realization of how fucking inconsiderate i am to all of these people (and many, many, many! more)... i should just stop talking to everyone. this way. i won't be able to disappoint or piss off anyone else and then i won't have to deal with this.

yes. excellent plan.

You ask me how I stay the same
After I’d seen everything
Could be the company I keep
You say I’ve got something you need
But what I have I just can’t sell ya
Cause my experience runs deep
You wanna be a brave man
But you just can’t face your fear
You only know what you can do

You think the world owes you a debt
And they should hand you your success
But you won’t find it on tv
You cry about the luck you’ve had
You wear your bruises like a badge
You won’t heal until you’re willing
So now you think you need my help
But you’re just to scared to ask
We’ll I’ve been scared before my friend

Get way from me
Just get away from me
Just get away from me
Cause I might tell you something

washer's done. i'm wayne brady, bitch.

this is one of those times where i have so much to post about but no time to really sit down and do it well.

so i apologize... but man does it feel good to have a life again.

oh. and to kristie and matt... i'm sorry... but due to circumstances out of my control... my trip to AZ has been postponed until late May when Lindz can join me and i can get stuff settled with a certain someone.

karma strikes again!

Step. Step.

Step.

Stepstepstep...

::pause::


The date on my yogurt is from late March. It is mid April. I'm feeling daring.

Ew.

Featured Writer #3

check it out.

not like any of you will ever friggin be interested in being the next one or anything... but i like bragging about my family.

yep. you guessed it. #3 is my brother.

feeling sorry for my failures.

rogan has no more questions. so she will not be updated until that changes.

book club has come and gone with nothing to show for it.

i'm not letting this beat me. i've just gotta hold tight until the pieces fit together.
but in a bitter rant message to everyone reading this site:

stop being so selfish.

i put myself out here all the damn time. i give it. i share it. i risk it all.
but i do it because i want you to feel comfortable doing the same here. and only a few of you are right now. and that is what hurts me. not that my ideas aren't good enough or that my layout is lacking or that my writing is too muddled and lost to make an impact. the thought that i'm doing all of this and that it isn't enough to make you all want to help it grow. that is what hurts.

/end rant.

i hope that didn't come off... well... whatever. i'm not going to excuse it. i'm feelin it.

today i cried during my reverend's sermon.

nope. stop right there you thirsting little religious naysayers. just make sure you read the whole damn post before you make ANY sort of comment about my faith... in anything.


i call him my reverend because he's mine. he has been for ten years. his son went to and graduated high school with me. his daughter is on my colorguard and winterguard. his wife is one of my mother's best friends and one of my mentors.

his name is gerry. and he is the most beautiful man i know. with. or without his collar.

today his sermon was dutiful. made the obligatory reference to the passion movie. made comments about the christmas, easter and i'll see you all again on mother's day crowd that so rarely gathers. told the same, tired story of the empty tomb.

but then. he sang. acapella. for no good reason. in front of the sardine-can packed congregation. i knew the words. and had to sing along with him. a lot louder than i should have.

I serve a risen Savior,
He's in the world today;
I know that he is living,
Whatever men may say;
I see his hand of mercy,
I hear his voice of cheer,
And just the time I need him
He's always near.

He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me
along life's narrow way.
He lives, He lives,Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know he lives?
He lives within my heart.

(A.H. Ackley)

now... i have big, monstrous, "intimidating is not a strong enough word but you get my point" issues with "worshiping" a "lord." and "his son." they are too long and involved and beyond words, really... to ever clearly explain to anyone. so i will not even try. but this song represents and means more to me than the words in it. my going to church really has little baring on my "religion" or a sense of obligation. just like gerry means more to me than his status as a "reverend."

i enjoy the parts of organized religion that give me a sense of community and love and desire for a deeper meaning behind this life. but i also acknowledge, understand and... most importantly... RESPECT the flaws and mistakes man-made interpretation of the intangible has tainted this world with.

i guess my point is that i don't take things for face value. and anything you read here or experience with/through me should not be taken at face value either. hate on, haters.

back to my story.



this soft and lonely song that he sang to us... that myself and a few others immediately joined in... by the end. the whole room. was booming. with harmony.

and it took. my breath. away.

he said. "this world needs an easter."

a chance to celebrate mistake. pain. sin. and the ability to be reborn. the ability to get up and live again.



and i agree. we deserve an easter better than the one some of us "celebrate." one beyond easter eggs, chocolate and lillies. one beyond the metaphor of spring, the seasons coming around full circle after death to be born again and the pretend sense of life we feel when the sun comes out to play with us again. one beyond a cross, a man and a religion.

we deserve to celebrate all of the dark, unkind and horrid parts of this life in knowing that there is always the choice to go forward towards the warm, tender and succulent parts of it.

and this hit me hard as i sat holding hands with my mother. her first real outing since her surgery.



funny how the end of lent marks the end of my being my mother's live in nurse. funny how this rejuvenating experience came just at the time that i was doubting my energy to go on. funny how my mom's rebirth fell on the same day as her savior's. funny how my family's existence began a new today as my mother and father talked in the kitchen while they prepared easter dinner together... about our lives, our connections and our future.

funny how funny i feel for daring to call these things "funny."

so i am celebrating the many rebirths in my life today. i am celebrating the last 3 weeks and all of the pain, hurt, loss, doubt and fear. because i feel joy again. i feel new. i am strengthened.



i don't care who you are or what religion you choose to believe or not believe in. we all need easters. because we all have "good fridays."



and they should never. ever. go without easters.

blog whore.

ok because i like keeping track of myself... for myself... i wanted to announce (a little late) my joining amy's communal blog.*

it's not like i'm cool or anything... i'm just a groupie trying to act like i am worthy of sharing an internet window with her and her friends.

so... for your viewing pleasure... and incentive for you to jump on the bandwagon and start blogging with us over there...

here is my first post. it is pretty much an overly candid and aggressive statement to try and establish myself amongst the group.

but then friggin Destini from friggin seducing women 101 just had to join and totally expose me for the additional groupie that i am.

so i decided to make my second post... about toilet paper.

i know, right?! i'm so smart. thankyouthankyou.

---

* i thought that since this post was made possible by amy... i should use my first footnote.**
** that isn't really my footnote. this is:

you can look for my future posts on the communal blog over on my legacy page... as soon as i am back in laurel to FTP it all up.

premonition?

i look around me at the starz and signs that i usually ache for and wish this time that they would just go away.

they tell me to take a risk. chance it. they tell me it's time for something big.




but i am afraid.




the usual fears are here... that i am not what he wants. that he is not what i want. that the logistics of this are just too silly and that the timing is way off. that i am experiencing this world of anticipation and imagination alone.

but then there is this new fear. it is different. slow... smooth... and almost comforting. the fear that this is actually something worth truly getting hurt for. that this time the fall will be so great and engulfing that i will forget how to breathe and get lost in a thunderstorm of pain, loss and unrequited love.

that this time it doesn't matter if it will work out because he and i are more than we and that in the end this will be what i write about for my grandchildren to read and that time will stand still in this moment of question and passion and turmoil and it will be the most i have ever felt alive and i will not be able to keep it to myself even when i turn around and realize that this was all in my head and just one big, electronic miscommunication.

that when the hammer drops... this time i won't be able to look around and say, "i'm better off without him."

ugly ducklings are not always swans. sometimes they are SUPPOSED TO BE DUCKS!!!

and we can only thank fox for this one.

simple premises. make average girls above average. through plastic surgery, lypo-suction and dental work. then 2 months of extensive training. oh. and they throw in therapy to "help self esteem."

i watched the premiere last night with my mother. i cried at least 4 separate times. this is an ugly, ugly show.

these women. are not ugly ducklings. they are normal, fault-full, lovely women. and it hurts me to know how horrible they feel about themselves. it hurts me to watch their stories about hard lives that they blame on their outward appearance. it lights the fire in my stomach to see therapy thrown in as a fucking side note to their recreation.

these women do NOT need to become beautiful through physical change. all it is going to do is make them EVEN MORE hyperly aware about how they look. i could see the vanity and shallow sense of happiness they had in their eyes when they saw their "new selves." and all it does is make me afraid for them.

this show is a flat out invitation for more women to feel like shit about themselves. let's just try an convince more women that if they just could look like a beauty queen all their problems would be solved. that they would find their true self and the weight of the world would be lifted from their shoulders (and thighs). please, let's.

and thank the lord for reality TV for giving us fat, ugly, worthless nothings a second chance at life.

these women need love. they need to find direction and purpose in their life. not a fucking makeover.

i shudder to think

if i'll look pretty in anything other... than pink.

or that my bruises will be drawn on... with blue and black ink.

maybe you'll take my heart along
when you take everything
including
my kitchen sink

and so i chase myself
around
the roller rink

but i can't remember
how much
i've had to drink

my shadow proved to be
the missing link

and so the sky
rolls by
but i miss it all
in the blink

... of an eye.

fuckin' no. no. NO!

i find it amusing that after catching up with a post over on my future fembar partner's page... i stumble across this little gem.

this stuff is really starting to make me want to kill people. so they can't ever actually build any relationship or procreate. there is NO FUCKING FORMULA. i don't care how many websites (some that i frequent) pop up saying that they have the damn key to finding a mate. i don't care how many books are published on the subject (some of which... eventually will be written by yours truly). there has never been nor will there ever be a scenario that will work for everyone. especially not this one.

10 Traits Men Look for in a Girlfriend.

1. She has a life of her own- and it's pretty good to boot.

Okay. I"ll give you that one. No one wants a clingy partner who has no life outside of them. I mean, yeah, it can be flattering and VERY convenient at first, but it gets old.

But wait, what's this little line in there about taking care of yourself and paying attention to personal style? What a nice, inconspicuous way to say be thin and cute!!

2. She never makes the first move.

Oooooo, and with ITALICS even. I hate this. HATE this. So you want me to just sit on my ass and wait around all day for a man to come and rescue me from this life on introverted (no offense), lonely boring existence?
I'm supposed to wait so I can be sure that he's interested? Well how the fuck is he going to know that I'm interested? Oh, oh... you explain that NICELY with rule number five. Passive aggressive gestures that mean JACK SHIT. Fine fine.
"Men simply aren't programmed to think like that so they are better suited for the chase.'' So how are they programmed, exactly? Oh yes... by the uptight, rigid, crotchety bitches that served as their mothers, and their relationships with the alpha male, all controlling, emotionless, pricks that served as their fathers.
Excellent. Let's keep that tradition going.

3. She is sexy without being trampy.

Now, what exactly... does trampy mean? Mr. Spellchecker says that it isn't even a word. I bet they mean by not wearing revealing clothing or talking dirty or being open in anyway about their sexuality. I bet they mean by wearing tight, matching sweater sets and warm vanilla sugar lotion from bath and body. And by giggling and blushing about everything.

4. She waits to have sex.

Waits for what? Marriage? TRUEEEE LOOOOOOOVE? Approximately 3.4 weeks? What is the problem with a horny and sexually confident woman? Oh yes. That alpha male fear thing. Fear that if the woman has her shit together more than he does that he will not feel adequate. Oh well then, by all means, ladies, let's pretend to be something less than what we are to make sure his little ego feels better.
Because if we sleep with them or suck their cock too fast they are going to assume us "trampy" (see above) and that would be very, very bad. In fact... don't even let him LOOK at your chest until he confesses his love for you.

5. She does little things to show she cares.

The explanation/example for this rule is fucking classic. His laundry, his cooking. And then in return he scrapes off her windshield!!! Oh yay, and I bet he does all the yard work too.

6. She should be her boyfriend's best wingman -- err, wing woman.

Yes. Because I am definitely looking to mother not only his children... but him as well. While I have no problem sharing my opinion ::short:: or giving advice... I do not think that a man looks for a woman to tell him what to wear or how to act. And I'm NOT about fashion, so where the fuck do I get off trying to be an expert on the subject?

7. She never turns on the pressure.

And this one is important, ladies. Don't ask for a commitment. Or talk about the future. Just wait around with your finger up your vagina and pray that he will treat you right and be committed to you. If that doesn't work... at least you'll get off every once in a while from that finger I mentioned. Oh wait. That might be "trampy." Nevermind.

8. She does not take any crap -- from anyone.

Except her boyfriend. Because she won't turn on the pressure or ask him to be committed, thus allowing him to do whatever he wants when he wants to. Contradictory much?

9. A good woman always chooses a good man.

And a good man would recognize and appreciate a woman who is confident and open enough to make the first move, initiate and/or reciprocate sex when she wants to, and to be honest about what she wants/expects from the relationship.

10. She knows that love is the biggest part of the mating equation.

And love has NOTHING to do with any of the rules you listed above.

...

Seriously, if these women that write for MSN are correctly representing the majority of the female persuasion... I want to look into leasing a penis.

Did I mention that shit like this just perpetuates retarded boring female stereotypes and leaves women no room to be individuals?!?!?!??!!

Well let me reiterate. FUCK YOU, MSN and your helpful little articles for teaching me how to be a woman worthy of a good relationship.

Die.

ok goobers.

hold down the fort for me. last minute change of plans. the roommates have decided our new destination point is myrtle beach. i'm very excited to learn that our hotel has a hot tub, pool, poolside bar and a very popular in-house bar. it has been too long since i have been drunk in my bathing suit.

and maybe if you fubar lurkers contribute a little to the page i might actually post some pix of the crazy mess i am sure to get myself into. and remember that the more of you who...

... the more fun i will be able to afford to have.

i'd also like to take a moment to give a shout out to my man Lee for hooking me up with a poplish bonus. thank you much... and your site is truly inspiring. take the HINT people. and GO THERE.

until wednesday, folks... book clubbers don't forget about this sunday... and on thurs or fri look for shenry's ask rogan, who by the way IS STILL TAKING QUESTIONS, you butt monkeys.

i will missu.

ok. new song time.

Hello, good morning, how you do?
What makes your rising sun so new?
I could use a fresh beginning too
All of my regrets are nothing new

So this is the way that I say I need You
This is the way
This is the way that I'm

Learning to breathe
I'm learning to crawl
I'm finding that You and You alone can break my fall
I'm living again, awake and alive
I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies

Hello, good morning, how you been?
Yesterday left my head kicked in
I never, never thought that
I would fall like that
Never knew that I could hurt this bad

So this is the way that I say I need You
This is the way that I say I love You
This is the way that I say I'm Yours
This is the way, this is the way

AmngStarz: yer hopeless
AmngStarz: do you remember what my fave past time is?
AmngStarz: i mean HELLOO
struggles101: actually, i dont :-)
AmngStarz: you know that thing
AmngStarz: with the flags
AmngStarz: and the frolicking
AmngStarz: in spandex
AmngStarz: sewing is UBER cool in comparison

it seems as though eric has gone from metrosexual to overly heterosexual all in one day. not to mention the false advertising. he has no beer. or porn... that he is willing to share.

selfish bastard.

struggles101: hillary duff? she's hot. id do her
AmngStarz: heh
AmngStarz: i just have an unhealthy thing for her
AmngStarz: with that lizzie mcguire stuff
AmngStarz: its sad, really
struggles101: lol. she's the shit. i wanna be her.
struggles101: and i wanna DRESS LIKE HER. most of the time.
AmngStarz: werd
AmngStarz: and she has a fucking album
AmngStarz: i mean come on
struggles101: and its good!
AmngStarz: ill never be able to make it big now
AmngStarz: the lizzi name has already been all used up
AmngStarz: sigh
AmngStarz: tragic
struggles101: i dunno. i dunno if i like lizzi with the anx-y (i cant spell that. sue me) type music. its too.... i dunno. bubbly?
struggles101: plus, she's lizzie
struggles101: i think
AmngStarz: i know
AmngStarz: but it doesnt matter
AmngStarz: in my fantasy world i have copyright over all elizabeth nick names and variations
AmngStarz: and STARZ!
AmngStarz: dont even get me started on those people.
struggles101: lol!!!

werd. i posted again on fubar. they are haters over there. but that reminds me...

hi lurkers!! ::waves::
i know all you doodiefaces are following the link to my page in hopes of seeing naughty pix of me... but the joke is on you. i'm really a 40 year old, bald, fat guy who gets his kicks pretending to be a young redheaded vixen!

AmngStarz: this is why i love you
AmngStarz: you blow sunshine up my butt
AmngStarz: :-)
struggles101: and what a cute butt it is ;-)
struggles101: i think i dont read fubar because im disturbed by the presence of the olsen twins on the top
AmngStarz: sigh
AmngStarz: lol
AmngStarz: oh i feel you
AmngStarz: that and it enforces everything i hate
AmngStarz: i think i am a masocist
AmngStarz: like seriously
AmngStarz: i should look into S and M

maybe left-handed people shouldn't get too close to one another

*Disclaimer: I know that I should not be mentioning him or this anymore. But I HAD to share this with you all. This is what I wrote in my book as I sat there not watching them. Thank you for your patience and tolerance. You can't rush miracles. Healing hurt takes time. Hold on to the hands offered to you... even when they want to let go.


Why won't my heart slow down?

Oh if it did I might be able to convince myself that I was OK with this situation.

Dear, sweet karma... why on earth must you do this to me?

Why of all the places in all the world at all of the times?

Just when he was starting to go away. Just when I was jumping into a new set of ghostly fantasy.

Why do I have to watch him.. treat her the way he should... have treated me?

Pound. Pound. Pound. Like I would like to do to his head and the coffee table.

Like I wish he would have had sex with me.

Like the unforgiving rain that fell this morning.

Like my mother's pain coming from her side.

Oh how the oranges, reds, browns and purples of my mother's hip cover my bruised heart, hope and ego.

It is hard to admit that I played myself.

Like the beating of his drumline on their instruments.

if you would just stop hitting me for a second, i can explain!!

ok so. book club is off for this sunday. my roommates are kidnapping me and taking me to NYC for a few days to celebrate my return to... whatever i'm returning to.

and i can't update ask rogan or any other sub pages because i don't have ftp access at my mom's place. so i'm really, really sorry... but all the fun and games will commence upon my safe return back to the house in laurel.

book clubbers, i figure you won't be too mad... considering that at least HALF of you have not even read the book yet. so mark your calendars for the following sunday: April 11th.
and, uh, yeah. that's it for now.

my brother is wondrous.

he decided that i needed to go back to the scene of the crime to conquer my demons. he drives me there in his monte, playing my song of the moment ridiculously loud. parking karma gets us a spot right in front of the joint, and we run through the rain giggling like little girls.

he stays right by my side as i point out where they sat. where i sat. he punches my arm and pulls my hair. tells me to get over it and that he doesn't deserve all this thought. that i should be happy he found someone ELSE... so i could stop having to deal with his shit.

then he asks me if i want to go anywhere else. and when he sees my eyes light up with glee... he knows. he holds my little brown bag as we leave the mexican mcdonald's heaven that is chipotle.

now we are sitting in his room, learning about the fabulous life of P. Diddy Combs. it makes me feel dirty. i can admit that he is an excellent businessman... and even that he has excellent style... but damnit, his music SUCKS.

anyway. i love my brother. tootles.

Oh how I wish I could say this was April Fool's.

She walked in and was immediately engulfed in the familiar smell of burnt espresso mixed with the hint of bleach. She loved the coffee shop, not only because it was a haven for her to escape to, but because she had worked in one for over 3 years. It was home to her. She knew it from both angles- in front of and behind the counter. She was a coffee snob... but in such an earnest way no one ever seemed to get annoyed.

She ordered her skim, no whip white mocha and chatted with the barista about business and about how he enjoyed working there. She took her drink and headed towards the big cumfy chairs against the window.

Like a scene from a movie, the image of him sitting in front of her flashed through her mind. Things got blurry, and then focused again. She blinked a few times just to be sure.

She knew it was him... but it was the woman sitting across from him that she focused on.

Slender. Blonde. Big, silver hoops hanging from her ears. White collared shirt. Tight jeans. Gorgeous.

He was how she had remembered him last Tuesday. Cleanly shaven. Messy hair. Long sleeved t-shirt. Khakis. That bad posture and dopey look on his face.

She locked eyes with him and saw through her peripheral vision that her heart was beating out of her chest, a good foot and a half in front of her, at the rate it usually is when he is on top of her in his bed.

Do I go over and say hello?, she thought. Naw... I’ll just wave.

So she did. But he didn’t see her. Or didn’t want to see her.

She walked carefully- calculated over to a table behind them. With her hands shaking she set her drink down on the table and sat facing the window. She could see the back of his head. And when she moved to one side or the other... she could see the woman’s face.

Rejected and cold, she sat there trying to compose herself. If she got up and left now, surely he would see. She didn’t want him to see the hurt she was feeling. So she sat. Trying to read her book. Trying to write in her notebook.

Their conversation was so animated. Big. Hard to ignore. She looked up every now and again, catching glimpses of the woman’s hair. Her smile. She had bad, yellow teeth... set way too far back from her lips.



Why. Why of all the places. On all the days. Did she have to see him here? One week ago, they were tongue tied in his darkened doorway... too impatient to wait until they got into his bedroom. He kissed her slowly. Forcefully. Like he never had before.

They had decided to only be friends. They had gone many months dancing around the subject of their hanging out multiple times a week, sometimes ending up in his bed together the following mornings. She had wanted a casual relationship with no labels or pressure. He had thought she mean friends with benefits.

She had told herself she would stop. Stop letting him hurt her. Stop letting him in only to have him ignore her feelings and needs.

But he had invited her back to his place. He had made the initial move. And her heart couldn’t hold back anymore. But when he pulled away from her again... only to go into his bedroom and get ready for sleep... she lost it. She asked him why he was doing this again. Why he constantly leads her on if he has no intention of building anything with her. Why he was such a horrible friend.

But halfway through her tirade... she leaned over him to see that he was asleep.

He fell. Asleep.

That was the last time she had seen him- as she walked out of his place at one in the morning.



She tried not to eavesdrop- really she did. She even distracted herself by playing eye tag with a man sitting against the wall. He was cute- big poofy brown curls and a messenger bag with patches all over it. She would have approached him if she could have moved.

But then the boy left and she couldn’t pretend anymore. She took out her cell phone to check her voicemail messages- it had been two days since she last checked...it would serve as a logical distraction.

“You have 8 new messages.” She sipped on her drink with the phone up to her ear, and was caught off guard by the appearance of his feet suddenly next to her table.

He was wearing brown sandals with his pants. They looked horrible. She followed them up to his hands, strategically placed in his pockets. Up to his chest and past the logo of his college football team. To a look on his face that blatantly said- better than words ever could,

“I’m really sorry, Liz... but PLEASE don’t embarrass me right now.”

She felt her face flush. She felt her chest heave. It was too slow. Time was being too slow.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Are you ok?” He asked with a tone that seemed almost surprised at how sad she looked.

“Not really.” And before she could stop herself... she lied. “My mom is back in the hospital.”

“Oh my gosh, why?”

“She fell.”

Pause. The woman had gotten up. Put on her jacket. Approached.

“But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ok... bye.”

“See ya.”

He took her arm, and they left. They left her alone, with an angry automated voicemail voice yelling at her to choose whether or not to save, delete or return the call.



The tears caught up with her on her walk to the car. It was drizzling now... she didn’t have her jacket. At least no one could tell she was crying through the wet that fell onto her face from above.

What she couldn’t understand, what troubled her the most, as she drove home with blurry eyes that matched the windshields covered in raindrops... was why she needed to see this.

Why did she deserve to get hurt even more? And why this week? The one week she needed him to be there for her.

With everything in her life being in complete limbo. So much emotional stress and pain. So much doubt, uneasiness and pressure... why on top of all that did she have to see him treat another girl the way he should have treated her from the beginning?

And why did she have to be gorgeous in the conventional way? And why did they have to be in the coffee shop. The one place he would never go with her- except once. Where she taught him how to order his drink properly.



I understand that it wasn’t meant to be. I know he has every right to go wherever with whoever whenever he pleases... and that he didn’t plan on me seeing him. But why... why in god’s name did I have to see that?

When will the hurting be enough? When will I get a turn to experience the other side of this spectrum we call life?

I ache for the day I can have where not one cloud of doom is hovering over me. When I can smile purely... honestly... and not only because someone said something funny. Just out of happiness.

I hate being known as that friend who has been dealt a hard hand. I hate my friends worrying about me. I hate that I can’t really remember what it’s like to be in a real, day to day, romantic relationship. I hate that I am so hung up on finding a deep and true love... and I hate even more that I have settled for less out of loneliness and fear.

Worst of all... I hate how much it hurts. How much it hurts to be wronged and denied by someone who really has no idea of what they mean to you.

I’m sick of being the one with all of the feelings. The only emotion right now that I am clinging to is desperation.

I’m desperate to feel something, ANYTHING other than sadness, anger and pain.

anything.