Monday, October 31, 2005

Post Script

(Read Below for the full story)

HAD to share what just happened . . .

Love my brother, but dear sweet god almighty where was he for our childhood??? He just looked at me and said "Donner, party of fifty. This way please. Donner party of 50." I die laughing and he then says, "I just now get that joke. You know from earlier when they were talking about it on the movie."

Shock and awe EVIDENT on my face - "WHAT??? You didn't know what the Donner Party was all about??"

Male ego poking through - "Uh, yeah, I mean, I knew, I guess, but I like forgot. I remember now."

Uh huh.

I Can't Believe I Forgot . . .

My brother and I decided to turn Halloween night into a sibling thing.

Just me and him sitting around, eating some take-out, watching some scary flicks.
I keep forgetting that somehow we grew up in the same family, in the same house, but have completely different experiences. I suppose because he spent almost all his time with my dad and I spent all my time with my mom (and, no, they're not divorced . . . they are so sickeningly happily married that it sometimes makes you want to scream "HOW COULD I EVER LIVE UP TO THIS?!?!?!?!?!).

My brother had never seen The Shining. We start watching it and I say "What about Psycho after this?" and he says, I shit you not, "What the hell is that? I've never even heard of it."

I then IMMEDIATELY go into culture shock and say "What about Rocky Horror Picture Show?" (a staple for my mother and I) And he says "What's that?"

I'm now mortally injured. But I'm recovering because I get to enjoy something I had completely forgotten. Watching the effect that The Shining has on someone who has never seen it. I get to watch the puzzled expressions, the downright horror and the "What the fuck?" face. I can't believe I forgot how shocking it really is. Yes, I realize it must be about the freakiest movie EVER (though, Kubrick's Clockwork Orange is a CLOSE second). And, to this day, it scares the bejeezus out of me, but there's nothing like getting your Shining cherry popped.

I think he may spend the night.

It's that bad.

I love it!
How could I have forgotten?

Friday, October 28, 2005

Quote of the Day

Provided to me by one of the endless stream of "baby daddies" that drop their illegitimate (and ill behaved) bundles off at one of the daycares where I ply my trade:

"Girl, uh, you be real fine, for a thick girl. That don't bother me none. Fat be gross but thick gives a man some extra paddin for the pushin. Damn, you just fine."

I desperately need to find a new population to work with. Appearantly my milky white skin and cellulite fluffiness are too much temptation for these men of darker lineage.

Or, I just attract freaks.

Speaking of freaks . . . was the "for a thick girl" part necessary?? Couldn't he have just called me fine??

Ladies, can we PLEASE form an educational group for men. PLEASE.

If you have further questions about this post, see the one below . . . though after that comment I've decided settling is not even an option. I don't want to spend my life hearing how I'm fine - "for a thick girl", or how smart I am - "for a thick girl", or how well I keep house - "for a thick girl." Sweet Jesus.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Settling . . . a Do or a Don’t?

So here’s the deal:

I’m a good sized girl. I admit that wholeheartedly and unabashedly. Some of it is my fault; some of it is not. It’s not easy to stay thin (or get thin) when you have metabolic disorder and insulin resistance. For those of you who don’t know medical terms, it sums up like this: My body LOVES sugar, craves it constantly, complete mind fuck craving . . . but doesn’t break it down at all. It also doesn’t break down the good foods (which I love) such as green beans, corn, salads, asparagus, broccoli, carrots, lean meats, cheeses, in fact dairy products of any kind, etc. etc. etc. In short, my body is a processing mess. If I were a computer, my motherboard would have been fried at birth.

Being a good sized girl, yet with a healthy ego, I have to wonder. Should I settle? Reasons to settle follow:

1 – In the state of Arkansas, in the good ole US of A, men can afford to be choosy. There are a goodly amount of crazed sorority girls, Southern Belle wannabes and aspiring Britney Spearses who think anorexia and a Southern drawl will land you a man right quick. And they are correct in those assumptions. A pretty face, a good body and some open legs do wonders for men’s ring buying abilities here. Larger girls need not apply. Size 8 rings aren’t on the purchase list.

2 – Also in the state of Arkansas, intelligent men are (by the by) hard to come by. Particularly intelligent, employed men wrapped in a pretty parcel. You may get intelligent, you may get employed, you may even get the pretty parcel, but three for one RARELY occurs. Some argue to take what you can get. I tried the pretty parcel, he wasn’t too bright or he would have figured out the man code – fat girls don’t get asked out by muscular 6’4” men with black hair and green eyes. The parcel was nice but when the conversation progressed as follows, the attraction died a natural death:

“So, what is your focus of study?”
“Huh?”
“What’s your major?”
“Huh?”
“Do you take classes at the college or are you there purely as decoration?”
“Huh?”
“Nice retort.”
“What’d you call me???!!??!”

And so ends a beautiful relationship (at least superficially).

I tried intelligence and employed but they came in someone who had fallen from the top of the ugly tree, swiped every branch on the way down and landed in a pile of ugly tree leaves. Great guy, wonderful guy, and though beauty is but a light switch away – darkness does not cover all sins. I simply kept thinking “Could I ever love a child who looked like this man, even if he or she did spring forth from my loins. Christ, no.”

And so ends an ugly relationship (at least superficially).

3 – Settling should occur for you because you expect it of him. I should settle for less than attractive, slightly intelligent and gainfully employed because I expect him to settle for very attractive, highly intelligent and self-employed wrapped in the fluffy happiness which is my cellulite. If he can see past a little cellulite, why can’t I see past a few acne scars, an unfortunate haircut, a wardrobe chosen at random from the local thrift store and fifth grade reading and writing skills?

Reasons NOT to settle follow:

1 – Much like number three of the reasons to settle, my argument is this. Why should I settle for the lesser of most categories for a man who has but to settle in simply one? Yes, physically I’m not Jessica Simpson, hell Jessica Simpson isn’t Jessica Simpson (ah, the powers of airbrushing). But I’m not mentally Jessica Simpson either. There are a lot of brains buried in this cellulite and beauty is beauty, even when surrounded by fluffiness. I’m very attractive, stylish, hygienic, intelligent, caring, compassionate, motivated, driven, successful and a million other adjectives and adverbs. Why should some fat cells overshadow everything else?

2 – I would never be happy. I would always wonder about the “what ifs”. What if I had found a man (HA HA) who would love me for who I am and not what size I wear? What if there was a gorgeous intelligent blind man with a tactile disorder who loved my personality and mind first and foremost and my body secondly? What if I one day through the miracle of pharmaceutical drugs and plastic surgery (I would say through physical exertion, but I tried the gym – 6 nights a week, in fact – and a diet of water and greens and still gained weight) became thin and began to resent what I have for what I could have?

3 – My friends. They have seen me on the settling route. They have chastised my recent dating choices. Why are you with him when you could do so much better? But can I? I see what men look at when I’m with my “thin” friends. Yes, I could walk around in sandwich boards that say “It’s not my fault!! I have a disease. I had a tumor. I’m food processing challenged. But I’m still wonderful!” But I don’t think that would do the trick, nor would it change anything.

4 – Things could be worse. I could be obese. I could be one of those people you see in wheelchairs and think “Get your fat ass up! You’re not crippled. Put down the triple cheeseburger and pick up some free weights and you’d be fine!” I could be one of those women who can’t find clothes in their size or can only shop at the “special” stores. I could look disgusting in a bathing suit. I could be one of those people who avoid black or black and white ensembles for fear that someone will yell “Free Willy!” I am none of those things. Since I’m not one of those people, should I steal a man who would look beyond what they are to the real them?

So, give me a hand. What do you think? To settle, or not to settle, that is the question.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Drama, drama, drama

Hmmm . . . . where to start.

I typically don't answer the phone if the caller ID shows a number that I do not recognize. This was the case tonight. A 919 area code popped on my cellular around 9:30 and it didn't even dawn on me to answer it. A few moments later I heard the voicemail ring. While checking the voicemail I received several shocks:

1 - It was a voice I had not heard in almost 2 years.
2 - He was begging me to return his call as soon as I could.
3 - He sounded hurt and scared.

Brandon.
We met when I was 16 and he was a worldly 19. I remember being in shock and awe at this boy who drank constantly, was super attractive and seemed to have every woman in the world begging for his attentions. And for whatever reason, he paid attention to me. I was the one he kissed and whispered sweet nothings to. I was the naive girl he shocked by telling stories of how he lost his virginity and how it felt to turn down girls he had led on. I was the one he drunk dialed. I realize this is all really pathetic now, but at 16 you're in such a panic about how to be cool . . . and these are the things that seemed beyond cool.

He took off for college (late birthday and held back a year for some unknown reason) in North Carolina. It almost broke my heart, but, per usual for any young girl, I survived.

A year later he found my number and started calling again. He said he just missed me. We spoke a few times and I found out that the Brandon I thought I knew had changed dramatically. He was doing a few drugs, skipping most all his classes, drunk constantly and sleeping with anything that moved. Before long, I got the call that they were expelling him from college. I didn't even want to hear what horrible thing he had done to provoke that measure. I just knew that he wasn't the person I knew anymore and I wanted nothing to do with it. But I was still young and completely non-confrontational and how do you tell someone that you were so enamored of that you never want to talk to them again.

Randomly, I receive a phone call saying his parents have kicked him out, he has nothing going for him, and down and out as he is, he can think of no one else he wants to be around but me. That I was the first and only person he could be himself with. By this time, I am a Freshman at college, I have no idea how he got my number and am unsure that I want to know. I start avoiding my answering machine like the plague. When I do finally check it, I discover that Brandon spent his last bit of money to buy a bus ticket from North Carolina (his parents and sister had also moved there when he left for college) to Arkansas and had nothing but two changes of clothes, a backpack and a calling card. He has somehow discovered what dormitory I am living in and is going to try and find some way to make it from the bus station to my dormitory.

I am beyond scared and immediately call a few of my friends on the campus police force. I give them the only pictures I have left of him and they assure me, as friends and policemen, that they will not leave the area of my dorm unguarded for a few days. He never showed up.

Four years later, another call. Again, I have no idea where he got the number. He is married. I am happy for him. He is successful in a business attempt and expecting a child in 6 months. I am ecstatic. We form a tentative friendship for a few weeks which is quickly discarded on his end. Until tonight, I didn't know why.

His wife, appearantly, from hearing tales of me for years, has decided he is in love with me and has always been and therefore has forbidden him to speak with me. No harm, no foul; after that many years and the great personality changes, it was no great loss.

But tonight . . . Brandon calls. His wife is leaving him. He has paranoid delusions about her sending neighbors to plant things in his house to prevent him from gaining even visitation rights to their 18 month old son. He tells me he has a noose hanging from his ceiling in his house. He tells me that I am the only person he could ever talk to. That I am the only person who ever loved him for him and accepted who he was. And I hate to admit this . . . .but I'm steadily hearing a monologue in my head that's saying things like - "Accepted you for who you WERE not who you are. You NOW sound like a trailer park, white trash, druggy, drunk with no education and no prospects. Why are you calling? Why are you calling? Why are you calling?" - - but I keep this to myself.

And then . . .
"Sweetie, if you would just tell me that I would have a place to stay, I would be on the next plane, train or automobile to your place. You have always been my best friend. Just let me stay until I can get a job and get back on my feet. And we will go from there. And I'm not even talking about in a romantic way. I mean that would be great because I've always been in love with you and I would love to be with you. But if you're not the same thats fine too. I just need your friendship. I need you to be the person you've always been with me."

Oh sweet holy God mother of pearl, fuck a duck, what the hell . . . here we go again.

May I introduce to you - THE BIGGEST FREAK MAGNET OF ALL TIME - ME.

ME ME ME.
I always get the freaks.
You know, the guy in Wal-Mart at 3 AM with two teeth, ratty converse sneakers, cut-off wranglers and an air brushed T-shirt that says "Rack 'Em, Steve" but his cohorts are calling him Eddie? Those are the guys that hit on me.
Or I get the ones that are perfectly normal, even wonderful, for a month . . . the guys that you think "I could settle into a good relationship with this man someday" and then suddenly turn bipolar, schitzophrenic, stalkerish or borderline gay.

I am so on the line here. I am starting to believe all the good men (the four of them) are all married already and the rest of the losers are out there trolling for me. ARGH!

Monday, October 17, 2005

So Excited

YEAH! (happy dance ensues)

Amazing, but finally, after owning a house for 3 years, I am alone in it!
I finally have a house of my own.
Yes, it sucks to afford it, but it's mine all mine.
No roommates.
No family.
No boyfriend.
Home sweet alone.

I have turned my brother's old bedroom/the boyfriend's game and TV room into my office.

I have turned Kade's old bedroom/the semi guest bedroom/the office into a bonafide guest bedroom with gorgeous bedding and beautiful bookshelves lined to the hilt with books.

I can walk around naked and not be self conscious . . . or oggled.
I can wake up, wrap myself in a comforter, stagger to the couch, lay still and read all day long.
I can vacuum at 3 AM.
I can listen to heavy metal at decibels that would kill dogs as I get ready for work - at 5 AM.
I can finally eat dessert without someone telling my mom I eat sugar all day or someone who claims to "love" me saying "Do you really need that cake?"

I can finally relax.
I can finally be me.
Oh dear sweet lord, heaven itself can't be this good.

Is it possible to have this much childish glee yet feel like a real adult for the first time in your life?