Thursday, March 30, 2006

I'm Not Ready . . .

Me thinks me got overly ambitious . . .
Me wonders why me talking like this . . .
Me blaming it on my therapy kids this morning who are driving me batty by refusing to use the word "I" because they know I want them to.

Back to life, back to reality.
We'll let that song be the theme to this post.

Yeah, regardless of what your friends tell you - it's not as easy as "To get over a man, get under a new one."
NOT that I was taking the "under a new one" part literally.
I'm not that kinda girl, kids.
But the general idea of going out on dates to forget about The Someone seemed sound at the time.

But my overzealousness proved itself last night.
Note: Kids, don't schedule many dates at once. Particularly like TWO days after a heartbreak. Ummm . . yeah, if you REALLY love someone, you're not going to be able to just casually date, not THAT soon anyway.

So, last night:

Bryan and I meet for coffee after I leave Crystal and Matt's (golf balls with my brother were put on hold because he's psychotically studying for a nursing exam).
Seemed like a sound plan.
Yeah, umm . . . not so much.

The beginning was good.
He'd gotten there before me.
Remembered what I liked and ordered.
Handed it to me and pulled out my chair.
What a gentleman!
Which makes the rest of the story that much worse.
Because he IS, like seriously, one of the best guys evaaarrrr.

We have a great, friendly, totally avoiding all talk of The Someone, conversation.
I'm laughing at parts. Actual, real, laughter, which felt SO nice.
I'm relatively certain that the reason he avoided questioning the situation was because:
I had bawled and squalled like a 4-yr old with a skinned knee when he had called Tuesday.
I had told him most of the sordid story (leaving out some very serious details, but nothing that would affect the main themes: Most amazing man, totally in love, hopes and dreams dashed in a fail swoop).
I looked, as Crystal so NICELY {sarcasm, folks} said, like run over dog shit.
Though, she assures me it was a mental look.
My overall presentation was attractive.
"You look good, you're dressed well, good makeup, good hair, but you look like you hurt. It's your eyes. Wear sunglasses."
Yeah, good advice.
Sunglasses after dark.
In a coffee shop.
Crazy chick.

Anyway . . . he's smart enough to avoid The Someone conversation.
And possibly, maybe a little, deluded enough to think he could make me forget for a while.
And he did, kinda.
No one can ever make you really forget.
It's a constant, dull ache inside.
You might laugh, you might converse freely, but under the surface you're still stinging with the burn of 1,000 fires.

We both decide it's getting kinda late.
Have the goodnight conversation.
He walks me to my vehicle.
Hugs me.
Leans in to kiss me (I'm assuming he was moving for the cheek, though, who knows with Bryan, I've been wrong before).

And what does Brittany do??????
Psycho-girl breaks out into tears that would rival Niagra Falls.
There are no tear DROPS, kids, not DROPS.
It's a steady river of saline down my face.
Classy, even.
Love it.

Bryan, who's normally King Understanding, looks at me as though he wants to smack me senseless.
And, honestly, who can blame him???

I start apologizing profusely.
Begging his forgiveness.
Hoping he'll overlook this and I can at LEAST salvage what is probably one of the best friendships I have.
And he says, "It's alright. Let's just try that again."
And he leans into me, presumeably just to hug me, just to comfort me, but damnitall if I don't start bawling even harder.
When in the buddha did I get so estrogen ridden???
Through sobs and difficulties breathing I manage to choke out "Oh holy Hell, Bryan, I'm so sorry."

And again, he looks as though he wants to hit me.
It's that look Robin gave me Monday night when I was telling her what happened was all my fault.
Which, if you knew the story, you would know that it IS.

Anyway, back to the story:
He looks like he wants to smack me until I have a lick of sense in my head.
I've seen that look on tons of people, but never Bryan.
Bryan and his unconditional, unfailing love of all that is me.
And I think "Wow, fan-freakin-tastic, I've managed to ruin my lovelife AND my friendships in the span of 72 hours. Bloody wonderful."

Bryan finally settles for just opening my vehicle door, settling me in, strapping me in (he doesn't trust me to fasten my own seatbelt . . which, actually, proves how well he really does know me because REGARDLESS of the MANY MANY wrecks I've been in, I never fasten that thing . . I hate it!! It HURTS!! - - no really, it does, it cuts directly into the surgical scar from my major surgery, and the nerve endings there are damaged . . and I'm digressing again, damnit), and telling me "Be safe."

The minute I've stopped wailing like a 9 month old without a passy, I start dialing numbers.

I cancel Saturday night with Will first.
Then I cancel Sunday with Mark.
Then I TRY and cancel tonight with Andy.
But that doesn't work so well.
He's outta town and I refuse to break a date via voicemail (how uncouth!).

I get home and my brudder is there studying (his house was apparently too loud).
I'm talking to him and watching the History channel while peeling potatoes for the dinner I'm cooking for Andy (since I can't cancel) and TOTALLY not paying attention.
A - Because I'm talking to brudder.
B - Because I'm watching History channel.
C - Because I'm still thinking I've lost Bryan's outstanding friendship.
D - Because I'm still aching with want of someone I can't have.

It's not until brudder says "Ummm . . you're bleeding." that I notice . . . while peeling a potato, I also managed to PEEL A FINGERNAIL OFF MY FINGER!!!!!!!!!
Yes, uh huh, TOTALLY peeled the fingernail COMPLETELY off my index finger of my left hand.
Not like shaved it across the top and cut off the tip of the nail.
I've totally cut the ENTIRE nail and whatever skin is under the nail (is there skin under your nails? Do you know?) completely OFF.
And am bleeding down my hand.

Think maybe someone's trying to tell me that I rushed into things?
And yet, I still can't get in touch with Andy, so I have to go through with tonight.
Maybe if I drink a glass or two of wine before he arrives, I won't cry all over him like I did on Bryan.
Maybe? Huh huh? Maybe?

The serenity prayer has been on my mind all night and all morning:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
(namely being completely and utterly in love with someone who can't love me back)
the courage to change the things I can,
(namely cancelling all future dates and hopefully not ruining another friendship tonight by blubbering all over a guy who sent me flowers yesterday and has been nothing but fantastic to me)
and the wisdom to know the difference.
(wisdom, uh huh, please God, because I feel like the dumbest girl on the planet right now)

Oh please, oh please, oh please.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

April Showers Came a Little Early This Year

They say when it rains, it pours.
And it’s been pouring on my head for the last few weeks.

Just to list a few of the showers:

Mom’s scare with breast cancer and subsequent surgery.
My own surgery.
Being held at knife point for $4.00.
The death of a friend.
Two traffic tickets.
And the latest in the showers . . . my heart was ripped out and stomped upon.
BUT, I have no one to blame there but myself, so don’t cry for me Argentina.

I allowed myself my big pity day yesterday.
I drove myself crazy waiting for calls that didn’t come and emails that never surfaced.
I cleaned anything that stood still long enough and wrote everything under the sun.
And then determined, ONE day of pity is quite enough.

Yes, I’m still so in love it hurts . . .but that doesn’t matter at all if it’s not reciprocated.
SO, I’m taking the advice of some amazing friends and a page out of our own dear Trueborn’s book and moving so fast that I can’t stop to feel the pain.

Before you ask, I swear all these guys KNOW the score.

Tonight: Coffee with Bryan.

You remember Bryan.
Gorgeous, articulate, educated model who knows when to just sit there and be quiet.
Perfect man, just not perfect for me . . . but we’ll see if that matters.

Tomorrow: Dinner with Andy.

I can’t remember if I ever blogged the Andy scenario or not.
He’s NOT bartender Andy.
This is another Andy.
He’s beautiful, intelligent, sports addicted and driven.
Long story as short as possible, we met, he took my number, he never called, ran into him again, he said he lost the number, took the number, three weeks without a call, called, few missed calls and phone tag, and by the time he caught up with me again I was immersed in The Someone. So I told him no on the dating front and stifled any romantic interest but talked every now and again as friends.

Saturday night he was a Godsend.
He talked to me on my drive - AS A FRIEND - and when I was lost for 45 minutes in Memphis, he offered to come get me.
Yes, ladies and gents, he was going to drive 2+ hours JUST to lead me back home.
I declined, because home wasn’t where I wanted to be.
And he wasn’t who I wanted to be with.
I needed to find the right direction in terms of both issues.

He also called several times over the weekend, and texted, to check on me.
And he was there Monday night through my tears and frustrations.
And last night, “just to make you smile.”

So, as a Thank You and as a Congratulations for the new job he accepted last night, I am cooking him a meal Thursday night.
He’s bringing the Merlot.

Friday night: Robin’s BIRTHDAY!!!! Happy Birthday, most beautiful, most wonderful, bestest friend on the damn planet!!

I will be cooking for Robin and a few of our close friends at my humble abode.
And possibly, trolling out to a bar later for randoms? :)

Saturday night: I acquiesced to Will, finally.

Shortly mentioned in a previous post.
We dated for a short while this fall, mainly consisting of us attending AR Razorback football games, but whatever.
He’s a great guy but things became complicated when he accepted a job that required him to be out of state three weeks out of the month.
We decided to end things and be friends.
But he’s been hinting at more lately, and I’ve been denying because of The Someone.
He just HAPPENS to be in state this week and I agreed to meet him for dinner and drinks.
He knows about the heartbreak and swears he won’t take the date as a promise of anything more.

Sunday: The Big Mistake

AKA Mr. Clean
AKA I have a friend who decided to tell you that you’re not all that.

I kept running into him when The Someone and I started our little tryst.
I made it clear I wasn’t interested in starting anything again.
Even a friendship.

But guess who joined my gym?
And called yesterday to inform me of his joining.
And was nice enough to tell me that he would schedule around me so we wouldn’t have to see each other.
But I told him it wasn’t a big deal and I didn’t mind seeing him.
And the conversation turned to different places . . and we’re seeing each other Sunday afternoon.
Stupid, quite possibly.
But why the hell not.

If I’m not sitting at home, alone, then I’m not thinking about how I’m still In Love with The Someone.
I’m out, I’m having a good time, I’m forgetting that the last month has been Hell on Wheels.

And today . . . well, today has been wonderful so far.
I have spent my travel time jamming out to the Comfort Music I purchased for myself.
(When you’re upset about something, feel free to buy 6 or 7 new CD’s)
My kids, at work, have been great today.
The weather is beautiful and I’m cutting out early to go grocery shop for the food stuffs I need to make dinner for Andy and then again for Robin's birthday festivities.
Then I'm going to help my pregnant friend move some of the furniture in her house and get ready to paint the nursery.
Then I’m going to hit golf balls with my brother and his roommate.
All before meeting Bryan for coffee.

Life goes on.
Might as well go with it.
Sitting around pitying yourself hurts no one but you.
Even if inside you’re still ripped in half.

My heart may still be waiting for a sign, any sign, but my body and my mind are getting on with their lives.

PS - Robin, you were TOTALLY right, Nickelback was worth it and I was dancing so hard to "Animals" on the way to work that I'm surprised I didn't break something. Also, FlyLeaf is rocking my world. You're awesome!!

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Laurie's Tag

Laurie, doll that she is, tagged me . . . and though I originally declined the tag, I’m feeling differently now, so heads up, kids:

Favorite Artist meme:
Choose a band or artist; and answer a bunch of questions using only titles of their songs.

Umm . . . based on mood alone, I’m hitting up Ani Difranco today.

1. Are you male or female? She says

2. Describe yourself: Superhero

3. How do some people feel about you: Shrug

4. How do you feel about yourself: Fierce Flawless

5. Describe your ex boyfriend / girlfriend: Untouchable Face

6. Describe your current significant other: Falling Is Like This

7. Describe where you want to be: Coming Up

8. Describe how you live: AS IS

9. Describe how you love: Shameless

10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish: Joyful Girl

11. Share a few words of wisdom: Face Up and Sing

12. Now say goodbye: Going Once

If you feel up to it . . . consider yourself tagged.

Sweet Jayzus

I took the day off.
I figured I deserved it.
Long weekend, lots of things going on, I wanted some down time.
Um, hmmm.
Down time.
I don't even remember what down time is.

Couldn't sleep.
Ha ha ha, what's new? :)
Went walking.
NOT running, don't start chewing my butt, I swear I didn't run.
As much as I wanted to.
I just wanted to run until it felt like my legs were going to fall off.
Run and run and run.
Until the soles of my shoes wore thin and my lungs were going to burst.
But I walked.
I know I walked quickly, I could see the world passing me by.
But inside it felt as though I were walking through quicksand.
Slow, agonizing, never getting anywhere, stuck.

Shower, laundry, clean out the kitchen cabinets, clean out the refrigerator, clean out and defrost the freezer.
Write a short story, write a rant about my brother and his inability to get over the girl who uses him, write two reports for work, write a letter that I will never send, write another that I did send to a Rehab shelter for a friend, write until my fingers went numb.
Until the sun was up and warm enough to lie in.

Put on some pants, because you can't lie around your backyard in an Oxford button up and panties unless you want the neighbors to talk.
Lie on the hammock.
Bask in the sun.
Feeling the heat of it warm you through the cool breeze.
Keats, some more of Capote, faxes that were work related, emails from the laptop.
Do the USA Today crossword.
Do the Arkansas Democrat Gazette crossword.

Start writing again.
But I can't think of anything to write.
Nothing that makes sense.
Nothing that hasn't been beat to death.
So I write lyrics.
I make myself remember old songs.
I write all the lyrics I can remember to New Kids on the Block, Ani Difranco, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Jethro Tull, Merle Haggard, Metallica, Live, Dido.
Just write.

Start reading again.
Hammock swinging slightly beneath me.
The scent of my neighbor's freshly mown lawn.
How did she mow it without my hearing it?
I was in my own world.
I never heard anything but my own thoughts.
The world could have fallen around my ears and I wouldn't have heard it.

I can't lie here anymore.
I have to get up.
I have to move.
I clean out my closet.
The linen closet.
My bathroom cabinets.
My garage storage room.
I curse myself for detailing my vehicle Saturday, when it's one more thing I could have done today.

I remember I didn't take my medicine.
It slipped my mind.
It would explain the need to throw up every four minutes.
It would also explain the headache.
I force pills down my throat and a Diet Pepsi to get the taste out.

God, is it only noon.
It can't be only noon.
It's been days.
It's been weeks.
Months have passed.
Yesterday was a year ago.

Sweet Jayzus, why can't I relax.
Why can't I enjoy downtime.
There are no question marks because these aren't really questions.

Poker is on TV.
I love poker.
I put in my favorite Razorback game.
Can you believe how many OT's we had?
I mute it and listen to the stereo.
While sorting files.
Matt Jones sucks.
Just in case you wondered.
I'm writing this in my head.
Now it's in my fingers.
Stream of consciousness rolling onto the keyboard.
The laptop on the files.
The game on the TV.
The songs on the stereo.
The things on my mind.
Nothing comes out.
More words.

Do you have days like this?

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Somebody Must Be Prayin For Me

I had dinner with my in-laws tonight.
Don’t ask, it’s a long story.
Just know that if I’m not careful, I’ll be married to a gay man before I know it.
But that’s not the point of this post.

After dinner and some conversation, it was time to go home.
But I couldn’t bear to go home.
I was restless again.
Home, alone, was the last thing I wanted.
Too quiet there.
Too alone.
Too much time to think.
So, though home was my original destination, it changed.

I needed lights.
I needed heat.
I needed the dull roar of conversation not directed at me.
I needed to be alone in a sea of people.

I drove for a while, trying to figure out where to go.
Somewhere that it was unlikely I would be bothered.
Where do people tend to keep to themselves?

I drove downtown.
To a haunt we used to frequent in college.
I can remember walking in the door and knowing everyone.
And everyone knew me.
But that was years ago.
Now, it should be just what I’m looking for.

The front was still the same.
Iron tables and chairs where we spent hours freezing but laughing and staring at the night sky.
Trees with low slung branches that would catch your hair if you turned too suddenly.
The creaky board that Matt used to step on repeatedly, just because, just to do it.
I could smell the cinnamon and coffee from where I stood.
If I closed my eyes, I could feel Jeff behind me.
Funny how memories sneak up on you.

The bell jangled over the door as I stepped in.
Sounds enveloped me.
Conversation, laughter, someone tapping their foot against the floorboards.
This is what I needed.
Sound cluttering my mind, stopping thought.

I stepped up to the counter and ordered.
I thought about calling Stephen.
Did he want anything?
I tapped my pocket for my phone.
It wasn’t there.
I had left it in the vehicle.
I wonder if subconsciously I wanted to.
Just to get away.
From everything, from everyone, just for a while.

My order was ready.
I sipped at the hot liquid as I searched for an empty seat.
Alone, but near others.
Alone, but surrounded.
Alone, but not alone.

I finally settled in.
Kicking my feet up into the empty chair across from me.
Facing a window, staring out, but not really seeing.
Just absorbing.
Senses humming with activity.
Smells, sounds, overwhelming.
I sighed.
I felt more at ease than I had in hours.

I had my eyes closed.
Most of my drink gone.
When I felt a hand on my knee.
Shaking me.
“I thought you looked familiar.”

“What on earth . . . “
“Best coffee in town.”
“Um hm. Until the three new Starbucks run it out of business.”
“They look like they’re doing pretty well to me.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. How are you?”
“I’m good. Really good. How are you?”
“Tired, but good.”
“You looked a bit lost.”
“Funny, I thought I probably looked asleep.”
“Nah. Your eyes weren’t closed that long.”
“How long have you been watching??”
“I saw you through the window. I thought you saw me, you looked right at me.”
“I was day dreaming, or night dreaming I guess. I’m sorry.”
“Mind if I sit down?”

I didn’t know how to handle this.
If he sat down, I lost the crowded alone that I was craving.
And, inevitably, questions would ensue.
Particularly about when last we spoke.
The girl moment to end all girl moments, remember?
5 AM phone call.
This was the man.
The one I had always questioned.
What did he see in me?

“Sure. Have a seat.”
He knows me too well, even now, after all this time.
“You don’t have to look like that. We don’t even have to talk. I’ll just sit with you a while.”
“We can talk, if you want. I’m sure you have some questions about the last time I called you.”
“No, I don’t. I figure you had your reasons and they were good ones. But they were yours. I don’t have to know.”
“I will tell you, if you ask.”
“But I won’t ask. When you’re ready to talk about it, you will.”
So we just sat.
Alone but together.
Saying nothing, but me knowing, if I needed to . . . if I wanted to . . . I could.

Bryan has always been like that.
Knowing when to talk, knowing when to just be.
I caught myself staring at him as he looked out the window.
Why couldn’t I have loved him?
What determines who we love?
Everything about him is perfect.
Gorgeous, successful model.
Intelligent, articulate, accomplished.
Caring and compassionate.

But I look at him, still, and feel nothing.
No twinge of remorse for what could have been.
No jolt of desire to touch him or kiss him.
No anger or pain at the past we shared.
Just friendship.
Just silence.
Just that crowded alone, I had been wanting.

We didn’t even say good-bye.
I stood, he stood, we hugged and he winked as I walked away.

The end of a song played in my head:
“Ain’t it funny how you always find just what you need.”

And I got into my truck and was thankful.
And remembered that I should never question.
The feelings that I have or don’t have.
The heart wants what it wants.
And I felt my mind quiet.
And I didn’t wonder at the truth of what I was feeling for someone else.
I didn’t question if things would mend and build.
I just knew.
Things will occur. For better or for worse.
At their own pace, when they’re right, whether you will it or no.
And I can sleep soundly with that thought.

Bryan wasn’t my one.
Years from now, I may not even remember him.
I knew that when I met him.
I knew it when I dated him.
It was just something I felt.

Just as I feel what I feel now.
Just as I know what I know now.
This new someone, I will remember.
A friend, a lover, a partner.
Any or all. However it ends or begins.
I will remember. Even if now, and this, is all we ever have.

“Ain’t it funny how you always find just what you need,
Somebody must be prayin for me.”


To Rolligun (who will laugh at me), to Trueborn (who already laughed at me, extensively) and to Laurie (who jinxed me):

Cops in Conway, AR are notoriously . . really trying not to cuss here . . . buttheads.
On EVERY level.
Seriously. Ask anyone.
I think the advertisement for the Conway Police Department must read:

Do you have a Napolean complex?
Do you enjoy taking the frustrations of your life out on others?
Do you have an IQ below 90?
Do you enjoy wearing blue pants that cut off the circulation to your legs and show everyone that you really do not have a penis?
If so, have we got the perfect position for you!
Conway Police Department


So, yesterday, while Laurie was jinxing me by posting on my blog at the EXACT moment that I got a ticket . . or two . . . about how I don’t get tickets (Laurie, I expect your half of the ticket money in the mail no later than Tuesday), I got a ticket. Or two.

Listen to this crap.
Or read it.
Whichever you prefer.
If you prefer to listen, my number is 555-565-9828.

There are FOUR exits from I-40 into Conway.
TYPICALLY, I take the first exit.
This SHOULD have happened yesterday.
I even felt it in my gut.
No really.
But I said to myself,
Self, you’re being lazy. You don’t need to go home and lie on the couch engrossed in the History Channel, you need to go to Target and return the oodles of things you bought as retail therapy and then decided you didn’t need/want. (Umm, yeah, this happens a lot)
So I waited for the second exit.
Seeing as it is closer to Target and further from my home.

Big mistake.
As I’m passing UNDER the overpass that the first exit leads to, I notice two cops HANGING OVER THE SIDE OF THE BRIDGE!
And I think to myself,
Self, what the buddha??? Have the cops gone kamikazee? They finally realized the horrendousness of their uniforms combined with the ingestion of Maggie’s Cookies has left them no other option than suicide by bridge?
I should have paid more attention to what was in their hands.

ONLY in Arkansas and probably ONLY in Conway would this occur.
They were radaring people.
Tons of people.
And at the off-ramp of the first exit, cunningly hidden by a wall, was a line of police cars.
When I say “line” I mean miles of cop cars.
Dastardly waiting to be radioed the description of the offending vehicle and the speed at which they were traveling.
So that they may speed up behind you, put their disco lights on and make you want to cry.
And again, I say, Bastards.

I am the first nailed.
And boy am I.

83 in a 70. (I should be thankful for the 90 year old handicapped lady who cut me off, thus forcing me to reduce my speed from 92, but instead, I’m still pissed.)
Brace yourself for this.
A second ticket.
For no proof of insurance.

I explained to Officer Entrapment that I was held AT KNIFEPOINT while some thug took all the change and extraneous items from my console a week ago.
Extraneous items including my insurance card.
Ummm, yeah, so HOW THE BUDDHA can I show you a card that a crackhead stole??

“Ma’am, you should count yourself lucky that I’m only giving you two tickets. We’ve been informed that we should be giving you three. One for No Insurance and another for No Proof.”
Yeah, thanks for that.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.
You should know that while Bucko was back in his car radioing in my information, I looked back to check and see if I was REALLY getting a ticket . . and what to my wondering eyes did appear:
But 4 flickering cop cars and 5 little pigs.
Lined up behind me like a parade.
Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, EVERYONE was getting a ticket.

And, no, it didn’t stop after I left.
No, no.
I know this because as I’m exiting Target, I decide to take the back way.
Thus avoiding ALL contact with the interstate.
And the bevy of ignorant law enforcement officials.
Who should have murderers, rapists, drug dealers and thieves to catch.
But would rather harass busy people with places to be and no real desire to do society any harm: just some speeding.

The back way parallels the interstate.
And I see:
6 other people NOW pulled over.
All receiving tickets.

Further down the road, I see the parked line of police cars just waiting for dumb and dumber on the bridge to radio in more offenders.
3 State Troopers, 4 Highway Patrolmen, 5 Conway Police Cars and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

So I travel over the bridge where dumb and dumber are LAUGHING as they are radioing in these innocent travelers.
And I honk.
At least four times.
Hoping to startle one of them into falling over the bridge.
No such luck.


I knew I should have left yesterday.
Just driven.
I would have been no where near Coptown USA.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


Today, I'm trying to remember.
I'm trying to remember why I don't say to hell with my priorities and just drive.
I don't want to be at work.
I don't want to be at home.

I just want to be on the road.
Windows down.
Maybe even (NOTE: This is illegal and highly ill advised) like that drive to Gulf Shores freshman year of college, when Emily convinced me that it was okay to put the car in cruise control and hang my barefeet out the windows while driving.
Everyone else in the car was doing it.
It made sense at the time.
It's what you do when you're almost to the beach.

Maybe I have a particular destination in mind.
Maybe I don't.
Seattle, New York, the ocean, the mountains.
Anywhere, everywhere, somwhere specific.
Just not here.
Not today.
I feel restless.
Unsteady on my own feet.

Ani Difranco spoke to me this morning.
Though, instead of a walk (I did that at 3 this morning), I want to drive:

Think I'll go for a walk now
Feel a little unsteady
Don't want no one to bother me
Except maybe you

Today, I don't want to be an adult.
I want to be 20 again.
That's still a child, in case you were wondering.
I want to be in love.
I want not to care that there are suddenly miles and miles of road between us.
It wasn't an obstacle.
Two and a half hours.
The drive took seconds.

Every night.
Every morning.
I drove to him.
I drove back to my responsibilities.
I drove back to him.

42,000 miles in one year.
It didn't matter.
I wore out cds.
Did you know you could do that?
You can't really.
I don't think.
But I scratched them, unintentionally.
Ruined them.
The soundtrack to Great Expectations.
Depeche Mode.
Our Lady Peace.
They all still make me think of him.
And driving.

A bag of supplies is in my vehicle.
It always is.
Perpetual soccer mom.
Even without children.
Change of scrubs, change of clothes, shoes, underwear, emergency make-up kit, travel size shampoos and conditioners, hair dryer, toothpaste, toothbrush, perfume.
I'm ready.
I'm always ready.

Credit card hidden in the vehicle.
Emergency credit card.
Only to be used for gas and hotel rooms.
For moments like this.
When I can't stand to be here another second.
When everything seems too much, but not enough.
Not enough at all.
Because one thing is missing.

And when I feel empty, or scared, I drive.
I drive fast.
To no where, to everywhere.
Just drive.
An hour, six hours.
Just go.

I want to go.
More than I wanted to go yesterday, but still not enough.
Because I'm not a child anymore.
I can't just leave.
People count on me.
I count on me.
To be responsible.
To do what's right.
To do what's necessary.

So, here I am.
At work.
But today, I don't want to be here.
Not today.

Tomorrow might be different.
I might feel more secure at home.
More right with the world.
At ease, confident, secure.
Wanting things to come to me.
Waiting for my destiny.
But not today.
Today I want to find it.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Just Words

I want to write you a letter.
Telling you everything I feel.
Everything I fear.
Everything I hope.
But it all comes out jumbled.

Letters? Who does that anymore?
I started a poem.
Or prose.
However you want to look at it, but I divurged.
This is what I started with:

There are places inside me
That must have been sleeping
Maybe they didn't exist
Before you

There are dreams I now have
That I couldn't have fathomed
Maybe they wouldn't have made sense
Before you

There are fears I'm overcoming
That I didn't know I had
Maybe they were buried
Before you

But it wasn't enough.
It didn't tell you anything I hadn't said before.
You should know all these things now.
But I keep writing them.
And destroying them.
Lighting them with matches.
Burning them in my grill.
Because it's not like I grill.
So it should be used for something.
Something useful.
Something with purpose.
Unlike the words that were written on the page.

I want to write you a letter.
But there is no way to express . . .
I wish there were words.
But they haven't been invented yet.
Words that tell you how I feel when we speak.
How my heart skips beats.
How my breath is stolen.
How my chest tightens.
How my mind blanks.

So instead I ramble.
Endlessly onward.
Re-using tired words.
Quoting to you song lyrics.
Because they say it better than I ever could.
Thinking of old movie lines.
Everything reminds me of you.
But nothing describes you.
Nothing describes this.
And that is how I know it must be real.

Before, I always had words.
They were always enough.
That should have been a sign to me.
Because true love can never be expressed.
It is a feeling.
Something that encompasses you.
Drowns you.
Overtakes you.
Overwhelms you.

But it's not something you can express.
Not in just words.
Never in just words.
Because, in the end, they're always
Just Words.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Beyond Lazy

So, this is beyond lazy, but I really don't care.

You're getting some random stuff today:

What's On

What's on my stereo . . .

Since I have a six-disc changer in the vehicle, I tend to load it up on Sunday and play the music all week. Occassionally the cds will change during the week for special occassions, but generally they stay the same. This week, we have some oldies but goodies:

1 - Ani Difranco - Dilate

2 - Metallica - S & M - Disc One

3 - Joss Stone - The Soul Sessions

4 - The Killers - Hot Fuss

5 - Pat Benetar - Greatest Hits (oh shut up, you know you like her!)

6 - Mix CD - Powerman 5000, Local H, The Gorillaz, Union Underground, Lo Fidelty Allstars, The Vines, Jet, Weezer, Soundgarden

What's on my nightstand . . .

1 - The God Gene: How Faith is Hardwired Into Our Genes - Dean Hamer

2 - The Complete Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald

3 - Capote - Gerald Clarke

4 - The Encyclopedia of Serial Killers - Michael Newton

What's on my settae . . .

My running clothes.

Because Dr. McCarron called with my MRI results . . . and, quote:

"Are you determined to have a hip replacement before you're thirty?!?!?! We talked about this. You can NOT run. I cleared you for walking. Period. STOP running immediately or you're going to be in a wheelchair for a while again."

So I'm reduced to walking.

What's on my mind . . .

I'm completely obsessive.
I can't stop thinking about someone.
And I'm sure that they're about tired of me.
I would be tired of me.
Nonstop emailing, calling, textmailing, etc.

I also have work on my mind.
I'm swamped beyond reason.
And instead of getting better (read as LIGHTER), it's getting worse.
I evalled 4 kids on Friday.
All of which qualify for services.
So when I get scripts (sorry, prescriptions) back on each of them, that's another 12 hours to add to my caseload.


Lovya, mean it.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

I Love Him Too Much . . . And He’s Going to Be the Death of Me

No, I’m not talking about him, again.
I’m talking about my brother . . . again.

This morning my brother called me with horrible news:

T : You’re going to get a call from Seth today. Probably Zach, too.
Me: What’s up?
T: Cody’s phone rang at 6:30 this morning. Heidi died last night. She had three other people in the car with her. Apparently she took a curve at 130 mph and didn’t clear it. They slammed into a tree.
Me: OH MY GOD!!! What happened?????? Was she drunk??? High?????
T: I don’t know. That’s all they told us. I called mom, she’s looking into it.

Heidi is the younger sister of a friend of mine.
I’ve known her since she was wee.
She was a good girl.
Younger, I found out, than I remember.
I thought she was 4-5 years younger than myself.
Turns out she was only 18.

It also turns out that my brother wasn’t that well informed.
There were FIVE other people in the car with her.
Not three.
ALL of which are kids we know.
Kids whose families we’re friends with.
Hope is a small town.
You know everyone.
You’re close with a lot of them.

The story we’re hearing is this:
Heidi and the four other passengers (Heidi died on impact, the other four were airlifted to different hospitals - - all are in critical care) had gone to her boyfriend’s house to have a good time.
The boyfriend broke up with her.
Heidi made everyone leave with her.
Hurt, crying, outraged (all of this is speculation and conjecture from family and friends), she took it out on her car.

THIS is why I’m a horrible person.
Yes, I was upset about the loss of Heidi.
Yes, I was extremely worried about her family and friends, particularly Zach.
Yes, I was worried about the other passengers.

But my first thought was: It could have been my brother.
How is Zach going to cope?
I couldn’t.
If I lost T, I couldn’t go on.
I know it.
I just couldn’t.

And that brought on the tears.
Off and on all day.
I kept remembering times I had come close.

Junior year of college.
Mom calls in tears.
Mom doesn’t do tears.
She does do cryptic messages that make you think the worst.
She never starts with the good stuff.
“Your brother was run off the road by a drunk driver coming back from Rosston. The truck flipped four times at 50 miles per hour. The truck was destroyed.”
And she pauses and breaks down into sobs again.
I take that to mean that my brother is dead.
My mom doesn’t do tears.
I don’t even listen anymore.
I throw the phone down and run as hard as I can to DJ’s room.
Slam open the door, break down on the floor and the next thing I remember is DJ carrying me to his bed.
Sobbing in his arms.
I can’t even tell him what’s wrong.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t see.
I don’t want to breathe.

Mom calls DJ’s 10 minutes later.
She knew where to find me.
“Brittany, he’s fine. Listen to me. He’s fine. He doesn’t even have any cuts. He’s fine.”
I hate to admit that I cussed her out for 4 straight minutes.
Colorful words I didn’t even know I knew.
WHO does that shit????????????
Who doesn’t start with “Don’t freak out, everything’s fine, but . . . “

That wasn’t the first or the last time.
But it was the worst.

I’m thinking about Zach again.
Remembering how he and Heidi were.
They weren’t as close as T and I, but they had a special relationship.
I hope I can help him through it.
If he will let me.
I hope he finds comfort in his family.
In his friends.
In his fiancee.
But I can’t imagine his loss.
I can’t imagine anything comforting him.
I couldn’t be comforted.

So, these are the thoughts that overtake me all day.
One minute I’m fine, the next, I’m fighting back tears.

Finally, this evening, I can’t sit around and think about it anymore.
Work had been a distraction, but it was done.
The sweetest man in the world had plans with friends.
I didn’t want to burden my friends with something as insane as this.
My brother, who I needed to be around, was MIA.
So I went running.

I ran and ran and ran.
Making myself think of anything else.

I’m about to start what feels like my millionth mile when I see shadows coming behind me.
I assume they are other runners, so I move as close to the shoulder as I can to let them pass.
Then I feel a tug on my ponytail.
My ankle turns.
I start to fall.
Arms grab me on both sides.
And I think, “Great. I’m going to be accosted in the whitest most Suburban bullshit neighborhood on the planet. Every house has a SUV, 2.4 kids and a dog, but I’m going to manage to get raped and killed here.”
Hey, think about the week I’ve had.
Wouldn’t you have thought the same thing?
Then through my “Schism” by Tool I hear:
“Damn Britt, you almost ate pavement.”

My brother.
And Cody.
“What the buddha, T!”
Cody answers, “We went to your place to get you to run with us, but you weren’t there. T saw the MP3 player was gone so we figured you were running.”
“Then why aren’t you at the track?”
“We didn’t see you when we drove by, so we figured you were doing hills.”
Smart kids.

Is it bad that I wanted to tackle my brother and just hug him until he couldn’t breathe?
Actually, I wanted to tackle Cody, too.
He’s from Hope. He’s been T’s roommate for a year now, but they grew up together.
He’s like another brother.
I just want to take them both and put them in a bubble somewhere and keep them safe.
That’s if they promise to stop accosting me in the middle of my runs.
And trying to kill me with my ponytail.

But I’ll take being accosted by them over the news Zach got any day.
Yes, that makes me selfish and horrid.
But, I couldn’t live without my brudder.
I couldn't.
I just couldn't.
And I know it.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

If Rolligun Were a Cop . . .

He would have been Officer X this morning.
No, seriously.

So that mother of all witches - Karma - reared her head again this morning.
Only, she saved me . . . again.
Apparently she felt a little bad about the hold-up yesterday.

True and Rolli are gonna love this.

THIS is the reason I get pulled over so much:
I am always driving during commuting hours and I travel EVERY.DARN.INTERSTATE.AND.HIGHWAY.IN.ARKANSAS.

Morning commute to first center:
City streets to
Highway 286 to
Interstate 40 to
Interstate 430 to
Interstate 30 to
Highway 10 to
City streets.

And I travel other interstates and highways as the day goes on - 440, 540, 365 - oh yeah, I play the number game all day.

Interstate 430 is where I get pulled over the most.
Mainly because I KNOW where the cops hide . . and that they are ALWAYS there . . . but I really just don't give a rat's patootie.
I also know where they are because the local Hip Hop station gives quarter of the hour updates on "Where the Po-Po's is at" . . . no SERIOUSLY.
But, I still don't care.
I want to get to work.
The sooner I get there, the sooner I can leave.

So, I'm on 430 this morning.
65 mph zone because it's about to split and turn into I-30.
I'm doing 87.
Semi truck in front of me.
Which means, of course, that he was doing the speed limit.
But he's gargantuan so it seems like he's going much slower.
And this is important for a second reason . . . I can't see around him.
State Trooper is directly in front of him.
But I'm jammin out to Union Underground and ignoring anything save the road itself and my vehicle.

Blue lights.
Holy buddha.
Not again.

This cop was the COOLEST cop EVAAAARRRRR!
Comes up to my window and says:
"Here's the deal. I don't know how fast you were going, but it was damn fast."
I'm still trying to gauge the level of his anger.
"I didn't get to clock you because my radar wasn't on."
Ummm . . . so . . . yeah, huh, what?
"I pulled you over to warn you to slow down. But also to tell you that's pretty ballsy to pass a cop that fast. You must have brass ones."
Did he just, uh, compliment me???
"Hey, is that Mr. Deadman?"
He knows Union Underground????????
"Slow down. Don't pass anymore cops."

Seriously, Rolli, this guy should be your idol.
He reminded me a ton of you!

Oh . . and to True - - ha ha ha ha ha - I got out of another ticket!

"Turn me on, turn me on, Mr. Deadman
Yeah, I want it, I need it, to make a million
Yeah, I love it . . ."

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

My Father Wants Me To Get a Gun

Depending on how you’re looking at things . . .
I am either the luckiest person alive or the unluckiest.
I’ve said before that my life is just a series of crises, and here’s more proof.

Let’s ignore the car wrecks for a minute.
Or the random things that happen to me.
And let’s focus on today:

The day started off extremely well.
Up and at ‘em by 4:45.
Shower, dress, gather materials for work.
Got to talk on the phone to the sweetest man on the planet.
45 minute commute seemed to take no time at all.
Pirated internet connection at the daycare worked - so I got to blog and catch up on some of my favorite blogs while I was waiting on my therapy kids to complete certain tasks.
All wonderful things!

I drive to my next center.
Again, great experience.
He is my autistic child and he was having a wonderful day.
Talkative - for him - and on target with his goals.
So, I’m really upbeat when I go out to my truck to drive to the third center of the day.

The third center is one of my favorites.
I have 5 therapy kids there and the staff are AMAZINGLY good with the kids.
Also, and this is crazy and I know it, but it’s in a church and always makes me feel safe.
Until today.

The parking lot is on the side of the church with no windows.
The door is about 25 yards from the nearest parking spot.
But it’s the middle of the morning.
Yes, it’s a bad neighborhood.
Technically, it’s the ghetto.
The Kroger down the street is where three murders have occurred.
But they were all at night.
And I’m ALWAYS out of the area before dark.
Do you see where this is going?

I’m aware of my surroundings.
I see no one.
So I do what I always do.
I open the truck door, get out and then lean over the seat to pull my briefcase with my laptop and files out of the passenger seat.
That’s when I feel someone behind me.
Enter The Crackhead.
We’re going to call him The Crackhead because that’s what he looked like.
And that’s what the police guess he was.

The Crackhead demanded I give him all my cash.
I, quite honestly, told him I don’t have any cash.
I didn’t. And I don’t. I don’t carry cash anywhere near that neighborhood.
Because of all the homeless people that are constantly approaching me for money.
I carry my driver’s license and ONE credit card.
Just in case.

Well, he didn’t like my answer . . .
So he showed me his knife and pushed the point of it into my side.
And again demanded my money.
I, as calmly as possible through tears, told him again that I didn’t have any money.
So he reached over me, popped my console and took the MAYBE four dollars in change that was in there.
And ran.

He’s obviously not the smartest thief.
He could have taken anything.
The SUV, the laptop, the cell phone in my hand . . . .
All he took was the four dollars in nickels, pennies and dimes.
And any sense of safety I had.

After I regain my balance and stop shaking and crying, I run to the center doors and ring the bell.
We call the police, I text-mail the sweetest man in the world and I let myself cry for a few minutes until the police get there.

The police tell me that it’s highly unlikely that they will catch him.
That he was probably just a drug addict looking for money for a fix.
That I should count myself very lucky that all he took was the change.
That I should feel even luckier that I wasn’t hurt.
And that I should be proud of myself for doing the right thing:
Not reacting, not fighting, just let him take what he wants and go.

I call my mom.
Because that’s what you do when you’re scared out of your mind.
Mom tells me, and I quote: “I’ve been waiting on this to happen! You work in the ghetto! What did you expect to happen??”
That’s how mom reacts.
Horror first, anger first. Then caring.
“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you did he? Oh, Brittany, you have to get another job. I can’t take this worrying about you all the time.”

I call Birdie.
Who handles things like I do.
“He knifed you for four dollars?? That’s great.”
So I laugh a little.

My father calls.
Poster boy for the NRA.
“We gotta get you a gun. You shoulda shot that sucker in the face. That happens to these assholes a coupla times and people will stop robbing people.”
“Ummm, dad, isn’t it more likely that he would just take the gun from me and kill me.”
No comment.
But I had to laugh . . . probably because of the shock.

And I’ve been laughing ever since.
I’m sure it will hit me around 2 AM that I could have died.
For four dollars.
And I will start crying again.
But for now . . . I am laughing.
It’s like nothing happened.
I’m still at work, still playing with my kids - - though I’ve noticed I want them in my lap instead of in their PlaySkool chair and table where we normally do our work, still laughing at everything.

I call the sweetest man in the world again.
He concurs that I’m probably in shock.
He recommends I go home or to a friend’s or down to my parents.
But it doesn’t make much sense.
I’m not hurt. I haven’t even really lost anything.
So . . . . I keep on working.
And laughing.
And I'm probably driving him crazy with calls and textmails.

One crisis after another.
I swear.
This is my life.
Sorry this is so discombobulated, I'm still a little out of it.

Where Do My Loyalties Lie??

So . . . this is what I've been invited to do:

My best friend from college (also, my future husband) opens his residency letter on Thursday.
This is a HUGE deal.
The med school rents out an entire restaurant, starting at 10:30 in the morning, and has an open bar from 10:30 until 1:00.
Then at 1:00, after all the letters of placement have been opened, they charter a bus to take the med students and their friends to Oaklawn.
Nothing like getting day drunk and then going to bet on horses running in a circle.
Baker wants me with him.
Baker's family, who will be at the restaurant but NOT the horse races, want me there as well.
And to be honest. . . I want to be there.
I want to find out what grand city and state I am losing my best friend to.
I might even be persuaded, just because of the occassion, to get a little "day drunk."

Here is the problem:

My case load has picked up TREMENDOUSLY.
Damn my ambition.
In fact, I thought, until this morning, that I was only slotting 46 hours per week.
But two phone calls and an E-Fax later, I find out that I now have 58 hours to slot.
58 hours that only I can cover.
EVEN if I cut the 180-minute therapy kids back to two hours per week instead of three. . . just until I can get a better handle on the situation, I'm still left with FAR too many hours to cover.

Which means, I can't really justify NOT working on Thursday.
Though, I did toy with the idea of working 6:30 to 10:30 and then rolling into Juanita's a bit late.
But is four hours even worth it?

So . . . here's my question to you:

Do I let down the man who has been there for me for 8 years and not show up for one of the biggest days of his life?


Do I set my business back and ignore my responsibilities and make myself feel like a Class A fool for getting day drunk and reading a letter instead of living up to my responsibilities to my business and my kids?


Why couldn't this happen two weeks ago?
When I was pulling a 28 hour case load and only working M-W and two hours on Th???

What really sucks is that THIS is my life.
This week, when I NEED to not be working . . . I'm swamped.
Two weeks from now, when I need the hours and the money and the build up for the business, I'm sure I will be pulling a 24 hour week.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Why I Wish I Had Saved Mark’s Friend’s Phone Number

To tell him “Thank You.”

Thank you for motivating me.
Because, sometimes, I’m not enough.

I started my run/walk tonight, like always.
Only it was a little better tonight.
Balmy 80 degrees.
Cool wind blowing.
The smells of fresh cut grass, the honeysuckle already lining the fence lines, clean laundry wafting from house vents . . . .
Until I started my second mile.
Uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill.
I was losing my enthusiasm.
Feeling the burn and the pain.

But I pushed through.
Second mile accomplished, I meandered my way to my driveway.
I caught a glimpse of myself in my windows.
Face flushed, sweat running down my back, staining my shirt.
Tears mingling with the sweat on my face because my hip had started grinding and aching a half a mile ago.
But none of this is what bothered me.
It was the way the spandex shirt clung just a little too much to my curves that caught my attention.
The way my breasts bounced even when confined by two sports bras.
The way my track shorts rode up a bit on my thighs.
And then I heard it.
His voice mocking me: “I don’t think you’re all that.”

Screw you, asshole.
I turned right back around.
And ran another half mile.
Harder than I ran the first two miles.

And when I got home . . .
Instead of doing the 100 crunches on the exercise ball that I do every night.
I did 200.
Instead of the 25 bicep and tricep curls I do with the elastic bands, I did 50.
I wore myself out until I couldn’t hear him mocking me anymore.
And I felt better about myself.
Yeah, maybe I’m not all that.
I haven’t been for a while.
But I will be again.
Sickness or no.
Medications or no.
Alone or no.
By God, I will be better than I was.
Inside if not out.
But I will do my damndest to change the outside, too.
And he can bite me.

I just wish I would have saved his number.
So I could tell him that.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Because Otherwise I Will; And Do

Tell me not to admire you
When your words are amazing
When your compassion is so touching
When your devotion is so strong
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me not to question
When we don’t have the answers
When we haven’t even begun
When we don’t know what we are
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me not to change
When I feel like I should be better for you
When I want to be what you need
When I’m not sure I’m what you want
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me not to miss you
When you’re not here
When we’re not in contact
When I wake up without you
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me not to fear losing you
When I don’t even have you
When I’m not sure I ever will
When I just found you
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me not to love you
When there’s so much unknown
When I want to so badly
When I’m so certain of it
Because otherwise I will
And do

Tell me

As long as your voice is in my ear
As long as your words envelope me
As long as I’m drowning in you
As long as you can
As long as you want to

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Unlikely Places

I swear these things only happen to me.
In fact, my friends swear it, too.
And they wouldn't believe it, but they've witnessed it.
So, again, today:

I couldn't sleep.
Big surprise.
It's about par for the course.
Lots of things to worry about lately.
Around midnight, I fall semi-asleep.
Until 4 AM.
And my body and mind give my tiredness a big "screw you" and refuse to let me rest.
Fine, whatever.
I'm a productive girl, I can accomplish things.

Shower, dress, become presentable.
Drive to Wal-Mart.
Yes, Wal-Mart.
4:20 in the morning.
Thinking - wow, this may be better than 2 AM on Fridays.
Surely there are no white-trash lurkers (save for the stock boys), they're all in bed.
I enter the store and cautiously look around.
No lurkers! :) Yay! Happiness.
I wander aimlessly through the store procuring those items necessitating the trip.
Skim milk, pen refills, fax machine toner, you get the idea.

Now, I would say what happened next was atypical.
If it were anyone else but me.
But for me . . . this is not atypical.
I'm quite regularly stalked in Wal-Mart.
Sometimes by old friends, sometimes by stock boys and occasionally by a man with cut-off Wrangler denim shorts, 30-yr old converse shoes, unfortunate teeth and an airbrushed t-shirt with a billiard table on the front and "Rack 'Em Steve!" on the back.
True story.

This morning, I was a little more fortunate.
Actually, a lot more fortunate.
Though,guys, you have to come up with better lines:

Tall Man: "Excuse me, where did you find that fax machine refill?"

Me (having not looked to see who I'm talking to because I could care less): "Office supply aisle."

Tall Man: "Well, I've already been down there and I couldn't find it."

Me (still not looking, still not caring): "Well, it's there. Above the paper shredders and to the right of the massive rolls of ticket stubs."

Tall Man: "Who do you think buys those ticket stubs, anyway?"

Me (turning to look because it's obvious now that he's not asking for assistance but trying to strike up a conversation): "Ex-carnies that miss the good life."

Tall Man: laughing "You could be right."

Me: "It's a distinct possibility. It does tend to happen from time to time."

Tall man is tall.
Very tall.
At least 6'5".
Still not registering if he's attractive or not.
It's too early, it's Wal-Mart and I have other interests.

Tall Man: "I get the feeling it happens more often than not with you."

Me: "I get the feeling you're making large assumptions."

Tall Man: laughing "You're pretty funny."

Me (really NOT trying to be funny, I just tend to be sarcastic and ironic in the early morning hours): "Now, see. Qualifiers are never good. Had you stopped at 'pretty' or just 'funny', I could accept the compliment, but since you paired the two, I have my doubts."

Tall Man: letting out a bark of laughter that would have startled fish "Do you always flirt with strange men in Wal-Mart?"

Me: "Oh boy, if you think that's flirting, I fear for your future in the South."

Tall Man: looking a bit taken aback "You're making the implication that I'm not from the South?"

Me: "You're not. Accents not right. And you haven't adopted any of the hallmarks yet, so you haven't been here long."

Tall Man: "Scrubs. I took you for a nurse or maybe a doctor. I'm guessing I was wrong."

Me: "Speech language pathologist."

Tall Man: "Do you have a card?"

Me: "Oooohhhh, that was subtle."

Tall Man: laughing, again "Was it that obvious?"

Me: "That you were fishing for my number, uh yeah."

Tall Man: "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Me: "Only most men would ask for a girl's name first."

Tall Man: "I thought I would be more inventive. Go for the gold and all."

Me: smiling "You just said 'go for the gold'. Oh wow. Cutie, there went any and all chance of you getting my number."

Tall Man: "You just called a 35-yr old man 'cutie', maybe I should rethink wanting your number."

Me: "Touch'e."

So, at 4:38 in the morning, I met Kendel.
Transplant to Arkansas by way of New York.
Acxiom employee.
Not afraid to approach women in Wal-Mart.
And I still have no idea why he was in Wal-Mart at 4:38 in the morning.
But I can't make any judgements there . . . because, of course, I was there, too.

And before you ask;

No - he didn't get my number.
Yes - he was very attractive in a Patrick Dempsey, you can tell I wasn't much to look at when I was younger, but I keep getting better as the years pass, kind of way.
No - I wasn't interested or tempted.
Yes - I'm kind of disappointed that I wasn't, because it means I'm putting all my eggs in one basket and it's a REALLY unsteady basket at the moment.
No - I don't flirt with randoms in Wal-Mart.
Yes - my sarcasm could be considered harsh, but it was at least 2 hours before sunrise, what did you want?

Any other questions?

Monday, March 06, 2006

Does Anyone Else Have One of These?

I've been trying to be really nice to my mom lately.

A - Because she had surgery Thursday to remove a mass from her breast and we spent 48 hours contemplating the idea that she may have cancer.

(No, thank God, it wasn't cancer -- but I got a little taste of what she's been going through for 10 years with me, and I didn't like it, not one little bit)

B - Because I had surgery Friday to remove excess buildup of . . . girl things . . . and I'm just too tired to argue with her craziness.

(Yes, I'm fine, nothing's wrong -- in fact, I helped build a wall this weekend, went to the gym yesterday morning and went jogging last night)


This morning, I think I had it.

6:15 AM phone call:

Mom: Hey, you at work yet?

Me: Sitting here waiting on Ms. Control Freak to let me in the front door.

Mom: Well, you need to go by your brother's tonight on your way home. I've sent a whole bunch of stuff with him for you. Toilet paper, papertowels, an Old Navy ad that I've circled things in that I want you to go get for me and some other stuff.

Me: Will do.

Conversation shifts.

Mom: Have you been back to the gym since Friday?

Me: Went yesterday.

Mom: Don't push yourself too hard, Britt, you just had surgery.

Me: This from the woman that had surgery Thursday? And dad caught you steam cleaning the carpets Friday?

Mom: Don't avoid the issue.

Me: What IS the issue?

Mom: Just don't push yourself too hard. But don't stop going to the gym either. You've gotta get at least 15 pounds off, Brittany. I know it's not your fault and the medications are causing most of it, but that's no excuse to just let yourself go.

Me: Jayzus, mother. You act as though I'm 300 lbs.

Mom: You know I'm not saying that! You're not fat,yet! But you are having some difficulty with the new medicines and you already gained so much on the old ones. You're so pretty, I would hate to see you get fat and make yourself less attractive.

(Does your mother do this to you?????? This insulting under the guise of helping thing??)

Me: Gee, mom, nice talkin to you, but I think Ms. Bassett is opening the front door and it's time for me to go.

Mom: Oh, stop it! You know what I'm saying to you. Just don't let yourself get fat, Britt. You've been doing so well.

Me: Thanks for this pep talk, mom. I'll do my best not to turn into Roseanne Barr overnight.

Mom: Oh, that reminds me. I made you a pan of caramal fudge brownies and sent some girl scout cookies with your brother. Don't let him "forget" to give them to you. Make sure you get them.

Jayzus H. Buddha Christmas.
Wasn't she just chewing me out NOT to get fat.
And now she's sending pans of brownies and boxes of cookies?????

I wonder if I can talk my brother into "forgetting" them.
If they are IN my house, I will undoubtedly sample the wares.
And that can't happen.
I would hate to ruin my attractiveness by getting any fatter than I already am.
Good Lord Almighty.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

The Duality of My Night

Oh holy Buddha.

This is the crap that happens to me.
The good news is, good things happened to temper the bad.

Exhibit A:

Bad Thing

I’m a stupid girl.
I decide to go run by the river.
Tired of the circular track in my neighborhood.
I drive down there.
Remember to roll up my windows, but forget to close the sunroof.
I come back from running.
Open up the back end of the SUV to throw in my sweaty shirt and put on a clean one.
BIG SCARY (yes, scary, damnit! It’s a rodent!) SQUIRREL!!!!
Staring at me.
Malice in his eyes.
He must have fell through the sunroof.
I scream and run like a little girl.
He makes a chatter sound and runs too.
I would like to say he was charging me.
At the time, it felt like it.
But, I guess he was just trying to get out of my vehicle.

Good Thing

My Florida State Seminoles (yes, mine, I own a college team, uh huh) beat Duke.

Exhibit B

Bad Thing

I drive from the river to the gas station.
Town of almost 85,000 people with the colleges in session.
I have a ponytail on top of my head, no make-up, fully flushed from running, sweat running down every inch of my friggin body because it’s Arkansas and even though I was snowed in a week ago, it’s 80 degrees tonight.
Bleck bleck bleck.
Roadkill looks better than me.
Pumping gas and I hear:

“Well look who’s here.”
Oh shit.
Mr. Clean.
“Uh hi.”
And he’s with a friend.
Friend: “Is this the girl?? Hmmm . . nice rack.”
Good to see he surrounds himself with asses as big as he is.
I had visions of myself lifting my Yoga Pant clad leg and kicking him in the windpipe.
“Yeah, well, nice to see you guys.”


I left my phone in the vehicle when I went to my brother’s to watch the rest of the FSU/Duke game and the end of the Arkansas/MSU game.
I go out to my truck afterwards and I have a voicemail from a number I don’t recognize.
Turns out it’s Mr. Clean’s friend.

“Just thought I’d let you know you really screwed up. Mark really liked you. Though, I don’t understand that. I just saw you and to be honest, you’re not all that.”

Ummm, NICE.
Question: Who IS all that when they’re in running clothes, 1980's high ponytail and no makeup?? Not to mention the oodles of sweat.

Good Thing

Arkansas killed Mississippi State.
Modica was hitting three's like nobody’s business.
Brewer couldn’t be stopped.
Townes was working it.
Hill was blocking.
Whew . .. Sorry kids, had a bit of a basketball rush.

So there’s my night.
Though, I left out the fact that I fell on my run.
And instead of protecting my already broken hip (though, relatively well healed), my mind said: “This is an expensive MP3 player, PROTECT IT!”
So instead of catching myself, I try and cushion the fall for the MP3 player.
What a genius.
A limping genius at that.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


A town I’ve known only twice
With others to lead me
A man I feel I’ve known forever
With my heart and soul
Beginning or ending
I feel lost either way
And scared
Please please please
Let this work
Just once
Let something work
Don't we both deserve it