Sunday, April 30, 2006
I can’t sleep.
This, in itself, is not unusual.
I can’t sleep because I had a conversation.
The conversation scared me, yet thrilled me at the same time.
Which is my state of being, as of late.
I’m wearing a canary yellow men’s dress shirt.
I wouldn’t mention it but it’s the basis for the story I’m about to tell.
And yes, I’m boring you with a story because I can’t sleep.
February 2005, the week before Valentine’s Day.
I was dating someone.
He lived approximately 30 miles from me.
Nights were confusing.
He didn’t like staying at my place - because my brother was still living here.
I didn’t like staying at his place - because I’m me and I like my place.
It was the first weeknight that I had consented to stay at his place.
When I sleep in clothing - which rarely to ocassionally happens - I prefer men’s shirts and panties.
I have no idea when or how this started, it just did.
I will make exceptions if I’m somewhere other than my home or the home of someone I’m intimate with; I do own pajamas.
But at his place, I wore a pale yellow men’s oxford shirt.
The first birthday gift my brother had EVER bought me of his own accord.
He and his girlfriend had picked it out for me - their version of new pajamas.
I loved that shirt - for the meaning behind it and the memory.
When we got up that morning, it was late.
Later than I had anticipated.
But still not late enough to make me shower there.
It was early enough in the relationship that I was still self-conscious about certain things.
I have no real reasons for not wanting to shower there, other than I just didn’t want to.
So I just pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped on my heels from the night before and pulled my hair back.
"Where are you going?"
"I’m going home to get ready for work."
"You didn’t bring your things?"
Lie, lie, lie. I had everything I needed in the vehicle.
I always do. Captain Prepared.
I just didn’t want to shower there.
"You should just shower here, that way it’s one less thing to do when you get home, you can throw on your scrubs and head straight to work. It was stupid not to bring your stuff."
He was kind of right.
Work was 20 minutes from his place.
If I went home first, it was 30 minutes home then 45 minutes to work.
I didn’t care.
I wasn’t comfortable enough to shower there.
So I left to go home.
I was within 10 miles of my house when the wreck happened.
I’ve blogged it, Robin’s blogged it, it’s exhausted.
Most of you know what happened.
A guy, high on meth, committed suicide by driving head-on into me while we were both traveling 65-70 mph.
When the EMT’s arrived . . . I was in trouble.
They had to slice the shirt to ribbons.
Each arm was slit up the middle.
It was slit up each side, to allow access to my back and chest.
It was ruined. My brother’s first gift to me, gone.
I kept the bloody shreds for months.
Gallon ziploc bag.
I couldn’t bring myself to trash it.
Tonight, for no real reason, my brother brought me a present.
A brand new yellow men’s dress shirt.
Robin was here, she didn’t even have to be told.
She saw him throw it at me and she got a look on her face and said: "Is that like the one . . ."
And I just said, "Yes."
I waited until my house was empty to put it on.
And I cried silent tears.
For my brother who loves me enough to replace the gift that was lost.
And for a shirt that can never really be replaced.
Friday, April 28, 2006
My mother and I were talking today and she asked:
"What’s your earliest memory?"
I didn’t even have to think.
I have two. I can never distinguish which happened first.
I thought maybe she could help:
I’m 2 years old.
We’re driving in the truck, like we always did on Sundays.
I’m in my car seat.
I have no idea what was on the tape deck, but typically it was:
Van Morrison, Steely Dan, Allman Brothers
Jethro Tull, the Eagles, Jimmy Buffet
Rolling Stones, Beatles, Led Zepplin
As daddy always says: "A little Led for yo’ head."
We’ve stopped at a local place to get ice cream cones.
Dad’s about to go to the walk up window when he turns to me.
He takes off his cap, places it sideways on my head and says:
"Here toot, keep my hat safe."
The hat is so big on my head that it’s covering my eyes, but I don’t care.
He pinches my cheek and walks away.
A few minutes later, he comes back with ice cream.
The radio is still on and momma, per usual, is slapping my leg with the beat.
Something distracts her; the ice cream, a conversation with my father, whatever.
I took my free hand - covered in ice cream - grabbed her hand, put it back on my knee and said:
"Keep on sappin, momma, keep on sappin."
My mom laughs and says "I remember that. That’s one of my favorite memories of you. Do you remember anything else about that day?"
"There’s a picture somewhere. I think it’s at your house, in that brown leather album I brought you. When we were done eating ice cream, your father took you out of your car seat and stood you up on the truck bench. He told you to do your "setsy" pout, do you remember that? Your cousin Carmen was such a bad influence. So you looked at me, held the hat sideways and did your "setsy" pout while I took a picture."
If I can find the picture, I’m going to post it . . . scratch that, if I can find it AND figure out how to
post a picture.
I’m 2 years old.
We’ve moved from Denver, CO to Erie, PA because GE transferred my dad.
And because my mom’s entire family is there and she misses them.
I’m sandwiched between my dad and my grandfather on the couch.
I’m decked out in a Denver Broncos cheerleading uniform.
Which my mother informs me was the ONLY thing I would wear.
Well, that and a ratty old HUGE Steelers sweatshirt my Uncle Jim had given me.
(See, football addicted from the beginning.)
I’m eating cashews and watching the game with the men in my life.
I remember idolizing my father SO much that EVERYTHING he said, I yelled right after him:
"Oh GOD! What was that??!!" and I echo in an extremely dramatic voice "Yeah, God, what was that?!?!?!"
"You call that a pass??" I yell "That’s not no pass!" - blame that on my cousin Greg, he thought it was funny to teach us double negatives.
"Damnit all to hell!!!" and I yell, at the top of my lungs, "DAMNITALLTOHELL!"
And my mother swoops in from the kitchen to attack.
"Don’t teach her that stuff!"
Daddy’s answer: "Donna, it’s part of football. If she’s going to learn the game, she’s gotta learn to cuss. It’s a fact of life. Leave us alone."
Momma says the football memory happened first.
I have no idea.
I just remember being a daddy’s girl, loving the smell of his dirty old hat and learning to cuss.
Mom: "How can you remember that stuff? I barely remember it."
Me: "I don’t know. I could guess. Probably because those are some of the best moments with daddy."
Mom (tearfully): "You and your daddy, I swear."
See, it’s not just my brother.
It’s my daddy, too.
And my momma.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
I just have moments of self pity that end up being played out on paper.
This is not one of those moments.
This is a thankful moment.
Thankful for all that I do have.
If God or The Omnipotent Being or Nature or Whom/Whatever stepped down and said "Brittany, I will make you healthy. In return, you must give up . . . " and he/she/it named any member of my family or any one of my friends, I would tell he/she/it to stuff it where the sun doesn’t shine.
Unless he/she/it was asking me to give up Becca.
That I might do.
KIDDING, Becca (if you ever read this, but you won’t because I won’t tell you where my blog is)!
My brother, regardless of his assinine-ness, is wonderful.
You have to know that.
Most of you are aware that I love that boy to distraction.
I would take a bullet for him.
I would die for him.
Yes, he knows this and takes full advantage of it.
But he returns the favor, too.
This afternoon, which will henceforth be called the perfect afternoon, I was lounging in my hammock.
The one that, coincidentally, my brother put together (I have no trees, people, I had to buy a hammock stand thingamajiggee).
Lounging, as much as one can, with a laptop.
Work does not stop simply because it’s a wonderful afternoon.
And it was wonderful.
Blue sky with clouds rolling in.
The smell of rain and new growth.
65 degrees with a cooler breeze.
I thought I heard a vehicle pull into the drive, but was too pre-occupied answering emails to get up.
Suddenly the laptop was squished against my midsection and 200 lbs of moron was on top of me.
He had launched himself into the hammock with me.
It’s a miracle I still have a hammock.
It’s a miracle I still have a laptop.
"Hi sissy. I came to mow your yard."
"YAY! Get off me, big ass."
We’re loving, aren’t we?
Yes, I can mow my own yard, but why should I.
I do everything for that child.
He runs a lawn service.
He can mow my lawn.
But, I do feel guilty watching him do it.
So I got up and weeded the landscaping. And pruned it back.
And moved all the lawn furniture out of his way.
And brought him iced tea.
And then laid my happy behind back on my hammock.
To listen to the birds chirp, the dogs bark and . . .
My brudder be a moron.
"Bricky! Me lubs you!"
"I love you too, dipstick."
He throws a wiggle in with his lawnmowing walk:
"Pieces! Pieces! Pieces of me!"
"Jayzus, bud, what are you playing on those earphones."
"I dunno, it’s on 107.7."
"Change the channel."
"Nah, she’s hot."
"You can’t see her, moron, you can just hear her."
A few minutes of silence.
"You’s a hoe! Hoe! You’s a hoe! Hoe! You’s a hoe! I said that you’s a hoe!"
"That’s on the radio??? That song’s like OLD."
"No, it’s not on. You’re just a hoe!"
"Tybo, do you know when the last time I got laid was???"
"UGH! Gross! Don’t tell me this stuff! Besides I saw you and that guy with the station wagon makin out in the hammock last week."
"That was like three weeks ago. And don’t make fun of that car, it’s his work car. They make him drive it."
"Right. That’s what he tells you. You ever seen his other vehicle?"
"Yeah. I have."
"What’s he drive?"
"Why do you care?"
"You’ve got problems, you know that. I need charts and powerpoints to explain the number of problems you have."
A few minutes of silence.
"TY! You just threw grass all over me, the hammock and . . . damnit, I can’t type! It’s all in the laptop’s keyboard."
"Ha ha ha! You got dirty! You got dirty!"
"Are you 22 or 12?"
"I’m big pimpin."
"Yeah, that’s the answer to my question. No wonder I have to write all your papers."
"You write all my papers because you’re the writer. I mow your yard because I’m the mower. That’s how we do this."
"Get your bitch ass in the kitchen and make me some cookies. Oh and some blueberry pancakes."
Few minutes of silence.
"That don’t look like blueberry pancakes!"
"You don’t even LIKE blueberries."
"Bitch, ROAD TRIP! Watch a movie once in a while."
"I got the reference, punk."
"So where’s my cookies?"
"Make your own cookies."
"I can’t cook."
"You can’t do anything."
"I can mow!"
I would type more, but he just walked up behind me and started blowing me with the leaf blower.
The. Leaf. Blower.
Don’t you wish you had a brother?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I know you don’t want to think about this
But your father and I have been thinking
And if you’re gone
We’re cosigned on everything
And we can’t carry all that
You need to increase your life insurance amount
I know it’s too soon
I know you’re not over him
I know you’re scared
Just let me try
Let me show you what we could be
I’ll make you happy
We can’t get the fever to go down
This could be good news
It could be your immune system
Fighting off what remains
Getting accustomed to the new medications
We knew it was going to get worse before it got better
Let’s just assume this is good right now
We’ll run tests again Friday
We can’t get it worked out
We’ve taken on too many contracts
You’re going to have to call another scheduling meeting
And hire at least two more therapists
And Medicaid is auditing six of our kids this month
I brought you the blank forms
So you can update
Your Living Will
Your Healthcare Proxy
and Your Organ and Tissue Donation electives
Get them done and fax copies to us
And your lawyer
This is important
Cody and I may need to move in with you
Just for a little while
We can’t deal with Matt anymore
And our lease is up in a few weeks
We’ll pay the storage fees for your furniture in the back rooms
It’ll only be a few months
We’ll pay you rent
Don’t worry about the dogs
Can you make some cookies for my class potluck
And I’m borrowing your truck Saturday
It can’t keep piling on
It has to get better
There’s nowhere to go but up
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow
In and Out
Just . . .
Monday, April 24, 2006
Stop coming around
Stop smiling at me
Stop holding me
Stop checking on me
Stop being so perfect
Stop making me sad
Stop holding my hand
Stop buying me things
Stop playing me songs
Stop writing me letters
Stop opening up
Stop expecting the same
Stop everything you do
In regards to me
Because I can’t stand it
I don’t want it
I won’t bear it
Sunday, April 23, 2006
And, if you want to read a really long story about the weekend that left me this way, here it is:
Friday, against all medical and intellectual advice, I left my bed.
Not only my bed.
But my house.
Though Robin had asked that I meet her for lunch at 11:30, it was impossible.
It took me three hours to get ready.
And this is not a Girl Moment get ready thing of changing outfits 22 times (I don’t do that stuff), refluffing the hair, applying gobs of makeup and making snazzy jewelry changes.
It was much more a stand in the shower - soap two body parts, sit down before I fall down.
Stay down for 5 minutes.
So, after the 45 minute shower, we moved on the to 1 hr, 20 minute hair drying process.
Stand up, flip head over, dry hair for 2 minutes, realize I’m about to pass out, sit on bathroom floor, lay head against the cool porcelain lid of the toilet, pray for death, attempt to stand again, blah blah blah.
You get the idea.
Oh yeah, Repeat.
By noonish, I was dried, dressed and looking pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.
I was talking well enough that Stephen couldn’t even tell I was sick.
But just in case:
I took a pain killer, a few Tylenol (to drop the fever) and a shot of Crown.
No judgement here, kids. No judgement.
This is the ONE day a year that I’m totally permitted to get so drunk I can’t see straight.
It’s Skit Dance!!!
And no, I won’t try and explain what that is.
Just know that myself, my best friend and all of his med school buddies spend at least 12 hours imbibing free alcohol, watching semi-pornographic films created by med school students and doctors/instructors of the UAMS campus and, in general, just being complete asses.
Is it intelligent to begin drinking at 1 PM when just 7 hours earlier you were vomiting?
Is it good judgement to start hammering down Tanqueray and Tonic when you’ve had nothing to eat save a Hydrocodone and some Tylenol?
Is it advisable to do shots of tequila when your kidneys are shutting down?
Should you be out drinking when you didn’t drag your sorry butt to work?
You may now refer to me as Psoriasis, Queen of Bad Judgement.
This is why I will now have liver damage:
1 PM - 2 PM: Tanqueray and Tonics (3) at Stephen’s.
2 PM - 7 PM: Fat Tire beers (3), shots of tequila (2), pita chips and artichoke spinach dip forced on me by Ragland because he was pretty sure I was going to pass out otherwise (about 20), large blue disposable cups of tepid, cheap, keg beer served by the pool (4), gay best friend trying to force feed me Tuscan ribs when I’ve already told him I don’t eat ribs but he’s so drunk he’s sitting in my lap (1), skanky women invited to the pre-party by their not-so-cute-but-gonna-be-a-bonafide-doctor-in-less-than-a-month-boy toys (2), cute straight men (2) at Ragland’s.
7 PM - 12 PM: Styrofoam cups filled with free box wine (3), red plastic disposable cups filled with free keg beer that was horrid beyond reason but again, I use the word free (5) at the Med School.
My mother, God love her, woke me up at 10 Saturday morning with a handful of medical goodness.
All my normal drugs, 3 aspirin, a huge bottle of water and a quiet voice.
I love that woman.
She then felt my head, ran to get a thermometer, took my temp and proclaimed:
"Jayzus, Bricky, you can’t even get drunk right. Your father and I hoped you would do enough of the hard stuff that it would kill off whatever’s damaging your kidneys. Instead, you come home with a fever higher than yesterday. Get in the bath, I’ll get the ice cubes."
Note: My parents were in town for one of my brother’s fraternity functions.
The day progressed with much pain and suffering, but it was completely worth it.
It also progressed with many tears.
Friday night, though very drunk, brought many sobering thoughts.
I’m losing my best friend.
The person who has been my rock for almost 8 years is moving 13 hours away.
I think my already broken heart was smashed a bit more.
I needed to do the girl thing - cry a little, hide the fact that I was crying and then pretend the whole thing isn’t occurring.
And in the spirit of pretending nothing was going wrong, I allowed Zach and Anita to take me out on their boat today.
Zach felt the need to sling someone around the lake on a tube.
Anita wasn’t up for the challenge, but I thought: Heck, why stop damaging yourself now?
So we suited up, gassed up and moved out.
VERY long day on the water.
Cold, cold water, blistering hot sun and a fast boat with a maniac at the wheel.
I think, at one point, he dragged me over a duck.
A real, live duck.
I saw the tube start to cut across the wake, saw the line of ducks and then . . . argh, feathers.
One would think that at these high velocities, I would embarrass myself.
It tends to happen once or twice during the boating season.
Last summer, I crash landed so badly that my suit went so far into certain areas of my body that I still don’t think I’ve retrieved all the lycra/spandex.
Amazingly enough, I waited until tonight to embarrass myself.
You guys knew this was coming, I can’t possibly go through a weekend without something embarrassing happening, right?
We get home from the lake and I beg off grilling out because I’m dead.
I literally feel as though a vampire has drained all the blood from my body.
So I drive myself home, do a bit of landscaping that could wait no longer and then shlep into the shower and wash the sun-block and sweat from my body.
My friend Jaime had called and said she was driving through Conway on her way back to Fayetteville and wanted to stop in and talk for a while, so I was anticipating company.
But it was girl company.
And someone I had known since God was a boy.
And she’d seen me in many, many states of undress, so you will understand how the following occurred:
I got out of the shower and put on undergarments.
I then proceeded to dry my hair.
As I was drying my hair, I heard the doorbell.
Assuming it was just Jaime, I started to walk to the front of the house.
For whatever reason, and thank heavens for this, I grabbed my bathing suit cover up and threw it on.
So there I am:
Black lace bra.
(Again, no judgement, I own VERY few if any undergarments which are NOT black . . and the first thing I did when I got a REAL job was throw away ALL my undergarments and buy nothing but beautiful matching sets that made me feel gorgeous and hap-hap-happy. This explains why in all my mortification stories I’m always dancing around in black lingerie. It’s all I own.)
White, see-through, high collar but cut down to mid torso tunic/bathing suit cover-up.
Half dry, half wet hair.
Opening the front door, expecting Jaime.
Is it Jaime?
Of COURSE not.
Why would it be Jaime?
That would make too much sense.
It’s my brother.
And two of his fraternity brothers.
One of which is Military Mike - the 22-yr old who keeps hitting on me. And made a drunken spectacle of himself at the bowling alley by constantly hitting on me.
Friggin A, wonderful.
Yeah, apparently they were in AT’s truck mud-riding and got hungry and knew there wasn’t any food at my brother’s place . . and are used to me catering to my brother’s every wish . . . and knew I would cook for them if they just showed up.
Because they were in AT’s truck, and not my brother’s, T didn’t have his garage door opener or the keys to my house.
And, I DID learn my lesson last time and quit leaving the maid’s key under the back door mat.
I was so tired, so drained and so used to being mortified that I didn’t even run for cover.
I just opened the door, said "Have a seat, I’ll be back in a little while" and calmly went back to my room to finish drying my hair and put on clothes.
To their credit, they didn’t mention my state of undress.
Not in front of me anyway.
As they were leaving (after I had cooked for them), my brother comes back into the house and says "Why you gotta let all my friends see you in your panties?"
My answer: "I thought you guys were Jaime. I wouldn’t have answered the door like that!! When are you going to learn to call before you come over?"
His response: "Military Mike thinks you answered the door like that because you want him."
Was I that stupid at 22?
I’m hoping this has taught me a lesson.
And that lesson should be:
Do not leave the bedroom unless you are fully dressed.
It doesn’t matter that it’s your house and you live alone.
Inevitably, if you leave your bedroom in anything less than a complete outfit, someone is going to see you in your panties.
Friday, April 21, 2006
I rose and felt the heat emitted from my forehead
I was dizzy with the effort of walking
A shower would help
I realized I couldn’t stand straight
I wrapped a towel around my head
Another around my body
I crawled back to bed
I couldn’t sleep
I should be at work
I can’t miss another day
No one to answer to, just myself
But I’m a demanding bitch
The phone rang
My heart jumped into my throat
It’s just Todd
He forgets the time difference since he moved to New York
"Let me make you feel better"
It worked for 10 minutes
Then the fever took over again
The phone rang
My stomach did small flips
It’s just Brandon
Trying to catch me before work
"Don’t lie to me, if she called you, I want to know"
I told him I couldn’t deal with the drama
I laid back down
I tried to close my eyes
But the world was spinning
I watched the sunlight creep blue across my floor
I gave up
I grabbed The Fountainhead and made for the hammock
Reading well worn pages
The words blurred
Cold leather couch against my legs
My upper body on the floor
Don’t throw up
Don’t throw up
Don’t throw up
Thursday, April 20, 2006
This adult thing is for the birds.
And I'm not doing it anymore.
Yep, gonna quit.
I just spent 78 minutes (I checked the timer on the cell) on the phone with an insurance agent.
Talking about Life Insurance.
Term policies, Whole Life, payouts, cash outs.
I wanna go back to college.
No house payment, no retirement plan, no health insurance premiums, no car loans, no student loans, no lawyers, no accountants, no brokers, just intramural sports, cute guys, fun classes and long naps.
That sounds good.
Who's with me?
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I’m not sure how or why, but God enjoys playing with me.
So, I admit, I made a mistake a few months ago.
A huge, huge, gigantor mistake.
Celibacy sucks and it drives you to crazy things.
No, literally, crazy things.
I called my nutso ex.
The one who had amazing bedroom skills.
But also hacked into all AR cellular companies to get my new phone number when I cancelled my cell service because he would NOT. STOP. CALLING.
But I was drunk . . . and he’s SO good in bed.
If you remember correctly, he told me after a few hours of amazing hotel sex that he was engaged.
But was glad I had called.
Because he couldn’t stop thinking about me.
And we were supposed to be together.
And now he could call off the engagement.
Remember how I just grabbed my clothes, called him stupid, told him to marry her and ran.
Ummm . . .. Yeah.
Guess who showed up at my house tonight.
Three days before his wedding.
Hello! People! Are you reading this?!?!?!
He needed to talk.
Said he was conflicted.
Didn’t know what to do.
He loves her, but he can’t stop thinking about me.
Which is why, when she offered him anything he wanted for his birthday a few months ago, he called me to see if I would participate in a three-way with him and the girlfriend/fiancee.
DOES THIS SHIT HAPPEN TO OTHER PEOPLE??
I thought Robin and Stephen were going to fall out of their chairs when I told them that little bit over dinner one night.
I digressed again.
Little stressed here.
He spent almost 3 hours here.
Sitting on my couch.
Asking me what to do with his life.
Asking me for re-assurance that he was making the right decision.
Asking me to tell him that there’s never a chance I will want him back.
Well, the massive amounts of Kleenex I had to keep bringing you . . . that’s a visual that won’t quickly go away and I can pretty much ensure it’s added to the LONG list of reasons I will never want you back in my life.
Well, that and the fact that you hacked cellular companies to find my number.
Oh, and that cracked out fit you threw in the casino in Tunica when you lost $800 (when I TOLD you to stop gambling and NOT go to the ATM) but expected me and Jaime and Patrick to leave . .. when I was up $2300 and Jaime and Patrick were up at least $400 and I got that cutie manager to comp us rooms.
And let’s not forget how you showed up at Zach and Anita’s in tears last February when you saw the article in the AR Democrat Gazette about how I was almost killed in a car wreck and instead of knocking on the door, saying "Hi, how ya doin?" you just threw open the door like you owned the joint, collapsed at my feet, pulled me to you so tightly I couldn’t breathe and screamed "I almost lost you!!!!!!!" . . . in front of the man I was living with. And my friends.
Oh, and that time in Memphis, on Beale, at Rum Boogie Café when you lost your mind and walked out of the place because I was hugging the owner . . . ummm, we’ve known each other for years, it wasn’t anything sexual, you jealous freak, and then when we found you again you stuck to me like glue in every bar/club we went to. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom. You went with me!
Why couldn’t I say any of that to you?
Because I couldn’t hurt you when you were already hurting so badly.
So, instead, all I kept doing was reminding you of how much you love your fiancee.
How you mesh.
How she does things for you that I never could or would.
How she fits into your world, and I never did.
And I pray you are happy.
And that you don’t do anything stupid Saturday.
She loves you, you love her and you should be together.
Marry her. Please marry her.
Funnily enough, I call Robin the minute he leaves and she is completely unsurprised by all of this.
It doesn’t even phase her.
Proof that she’s been my friend for too long.
She took it all in stride.
She was like "Eh, whatever, he’s a freak."
That says something, doesn’t it?
When the people in your life are no longer shocked by stories like this.
I’m going to have "Crisis Magnet" tatooed on my forehead tomorrow.
That way if you guys see me in public, you’ll know to steer clear.
FEMA should declare me a natural disaster area.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Pale white softness
Down the ribcage
Less than inches
Breath on lips
No wavering gazes
Begging but withheld
Curve cooling with absence
Twirls in locks
Turn on heel
Monday, April 17, 2006
I didn’t think of you
When the song came on
The one I never told you about
The lyrics I wished you’d written
The words I heard you saying
Though they never crossed your lips
For the first time
I didn’t rush to hit "track up"
Before the song could begin
I didn’t even think about it
I sang along
I didn’t cry
I enjoyed it
And before I could remember what it was
It was over
And I’ll listen to it tomorrow
And not think of you again
Because the words were never yours
And the pain is starting to lessen
I'm pulling double duty for a little while, seeing as Robin is unable to find internet time with her training for her NEW FANTABULOUS JOB!!!!! Way to go, chica! Love you much and you deserve it! But, I'll throw little poems and what not up when I can. I scribbled this one in about 30 seconds this morning after . . . well, hell, it's a little self-explanatory, don't you think?
Sunday, April 16, 2006
That's what I'm going to refer to this as.
And yes, he knows I'm posting it.
THIS is what happens when you and one of your best friends (or whatever he is) both manage to be unable to sleep at the same time.
Sad thing, Robin heard all about this and . . . dah dah dah dah . . . she AGREES with it.
Anywho . . .
Some notes you might need:
Inevitably, if I go to Wendy's, I get the dollar menu salad. It's good. Sue me.
NU is one of my most favorite restaurants in the world.
I never go there.
The last time I was there was New Years.
Because it's $100 a plate.
That's without drinks, without anything . . just three small courses.
But it's SO good.
The rest, the rest is self explanatory.
BRYALN: I have figured out what your problem is
Meghan_louise: I’m amazingly talented and gorgeous, not to mention intelligent beyond all reason?
BRYALN: dont be sarcastic about yourself now is not the time
BRYALN: Im trying to be serious stop joking
Meghan_louise: Yes, sir. What’s my problem?
BRYALN: you dont expect anything
Meghan_louise: That’s a pro. . . wait . . . what the hell does that even mean?
BRYALN: its like this most women Ive dated demand things like $200 dinners at NU
Meghan_louise: I love NU.
BRYALN: I know you do but you would never ask me to take you there
Meghan_louise: No, that would be ridiculous. It would cost $200.
BRYALN: thats my point most women dont care if its going to cost the guy $200 its their proof that we care about them you, youre perfectly happy if I take you to Wendys and get you that dollar menu salad you always order
Meghan_louise: Uhhh . . and this is a BAD thing?
Meghan_louise: Let me get this straight. Because I’m a low-maintenance date, it’s a bad thing.
Meghan_louise: You’re out of your godforsaken mind. I thought men WANTED low-maintenance. I’ve had guys tell me that they didn’t ask me out because they thought I WAS high-maintenance.
BRYALN: think about it like this youre not just low maintenance on dates if it were just dates, that would be one thing but its everything you dont expect anything nothing good anyway you go to the doctor expecting bad news you answer your phone expecting bad news youre not a pessimist which is incredibly weird considering you always expect the worst but youre always very upbeat and happy and everyone elses cheerleader but for you you expect the worst
Meghan_louise: Because when I go to the doctor, it always is bad news. Because 7 times out of 10, when my phone rings it is something bad: something at work is screwing up, my brother’s having a crisis, my mother needs something, the doctor’s calling, blah, blah, blah.
BRYALN: this still is not the point
Meghan_louise: What is the point?
BRYALN: that Im not a Wendy’s dollar menu salad
Meghan_louise: What??? You’ve lost me.
BRYALN: you dont think you can have me you don’t expect me because to you Im dinner at NU youre used to Wendys salads thats why you date losers because you expect losers you think thats what you deserve Wendys salads Im not a Wendys salad I’m NU
Meghan_louise: Ooooookkkkkkaaaaay. Still not seeing where this is going.
BRYALN: you treat yourself to NU every once in a while right?
Meghan_louise: Yep, I do.
BRYALN: so why not treat yourself to me?
Meghan_louise: Ah, but you’re forgetting a very important point.
BRYALN: whats that?
Meghan_louise: Everytime I go to NU, I end up paying for it.
BRYALN: so you think you’ll end up paying for me?
Meghan_louise: One way or another, yep. Nothing’s free. Wendy’s salads, you get what you pay for. NU, you love it . . . but in the end, it ends up hurting - - cause that was $200 that could have been used for something more important. And everytime you eat it, you start to get used to it and you want it more. It’s not a delicacy thing anymore. It’s something you expect and want. And before you know it, you’re spending $200 every three days on something that’s only going to hurt your bank account and your waistline.
BRYALN: now youre the one losing me
Meghan_louise: What if you wake up and realize that you really are NU and I’m a Wendy’s salad deserving kind of girl. So you go find a NU girl. Someone who deserves you. And I’m ruined forever because I got used to NU and NU doesn’t want me anymore. I’m blacklisted from NU. No more NU for me. You become the NU Nazi. NO NU FOR YOU!
BRYALN: hahahaha baby we’re off-track but that’s normal you don’t think you deserve anything and I think you deserve the world
Meghan_louise: You’re too good.
BRYALN: finish it
Meghan_louise: Finish what?
BRYALN: that wasn’t the end of that sentence
Meghan_louise: That was the end of that sentence.
BRYALN: No the end of that sentence was you’re too good ... for me
BRYALN: I hope one day you wake up and see yourself for what you are
Meghan_louise: I don’t have to. People have already shown me. If I was what you think I am . . then I wouldn’t have been so easy for others to cast aside.
BRYALN: I’m calling a psychiatrist for you when I get back
Meghan_louise: :) ha ha ha
BRYALN: laugh it up baby but were going to fix this self esteem thing youve got goin
Meghan_louise: Good luck with that.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
I'm not even sure it has a discernable ending.
I just had a really fun night and had nothing else to blog . . . but was chastised for not blogging enough lately, so you did this to yourself.
I am SOOOO tired.
2:30 AM - fall into bed.
4:45 AM - alarm goes off.
4:46 AM - I reset alarm for 6:45 AM and fall back into bed.
4:47 AM - I realize that I HAVE to see my 6:30 kids today because the center is closed tomorrow for Good Friday.
4:48 AM - I roll out of bed and get ready for work.
Bubbahead called me at 3:30 yesterday afternoon and asked me to come by his place after work.
He misses me. Ain't that sweet?
I've got the best bubbahead.
So, when I get off, I wander over there.
Only to find him, Cody and Military Mike washing vehicles.
They offer to wash mine while I play with my Kady-dog (the cutest puppy on the planet, in case you were wondering).
Before I know it, we're Redneck Central.
The guys are all in nothing but shorts and flip-flops.
We're sitting on the tailgate or in the bed of one of the trucks.
We're drinking beer - or they are, rather. (I'm on alky restriction, durn medications! I'm not such a big drinker anymore, but a cold beer on a hot afternoon . . . gosh!)
We have one of the vehicles with a "sound system" cranked to some old school rock.
This is what you do in the South when you don't have a porch.
It sounds a lot worse than it is.
It's actually Heaven.
Warm sun, good music, cold beer, good friends, hilarious conversation, great music.
My pseudo-date for the night had been abruptly altered . . . long story.
Just know that some guys play games.
And this one has been playing games since before Christmas.
Funny how when The Someone emerged on the scene, he was all attentive.
Men! Throw a little competition in there and suddenly you all become WAY more attracted to the girl. So damn predictable.
Anyway . . . the point is, I was free for the evening.
Somehow, the idea comes up that we need to go out.
How did I get dragged into this frat boy outting?
Well, a myriad of reasons:
- Since I can't drink, and don't much anyway, I could be a designated driver.
- The boys seem to think that having a girl around increases their chances of meeting girls.
- My bubbahead thought that having me around would be a calming influence on AT . . . who had gotten his finger cut off and been hospitalized last weekend because of a bar fight. (and this is NOT the first time this has happened . . . and this kid is 24, so not a kid)
- One of the kids had been hitting on me all afternoon, and my brudder thought it was HILARIOUS and wanted me to "Keep leadin him on, it's funny."
- I have the biggest vehicle, thus we can all go together instead of having to take 2 or 3 automobiles.
- For whatever reason, my brudder likes having me around. And I like being with him.
Original Plan: Go to the Rivermarket. Plan altered. Bubbahead's ex (whom I've already threatened to kill without remorse) was going to the Rivermarket with some pledge sisters. Uh uh, not happenin. I'm all for having fun, but the chances of me being imprisoned were too great. And my bubbahead knew it.
New Plan: Holy Hades, we're going to Millenium.
Bubbahead thinks drunk bowling is a GREAT plan. I'm in mortal fear because things did NOT end well with the bartender I was dating there. I'm real tempted to call two of the other guys I know there (who still talk to me, amazingly, even though their friend and I . . umm . . yeah, just not good) and see if he's working. But then realize that's juvenile and paranoid and just think, "Hmmm, you'll just stay out of the bar area. Bowling lanes only."
By the time we're all showered, primped and ready to roll, we've got: Me, Cody, bubbahead, AT, Military Mike and Brian. Don't ask me why the guy who just had his finger sewed back on thought he should go bowling. Didn't sound like a good plan at the time. Turns out, it wasn't a good plan. Goodness, big surprise there.
Military Mike - spitting game at me like there's no tomorrow. Umm . . doesn't this 22 yr old realize that Yes, there are only three, actual, chronological years between us . . . but I have a business, a mortgage, a retirement plan, in essence OCEANS are between our two continents?? Not to mention he's my LITTLE BROTHER'S FRIEND! Jayzus.
AT - gets so drunk he FORGETS that his finger was just sewed back on. Tries to bowl with his injured hand. Surprisingly, (and yes, we had bets on this) his finger did not go flying down the lane stuck in a ball. BUT, the pain from the incident caused his temper to mellow and he did NOT try and fight ANYONE in the joint.
Cody - proves, yet again, that he's one of the best and most fun guys on the planet. He plays air fiddle to Dixie Chicks, he grooves down to 50 cent, he head bangs to Metallica and he dances with me (NOT anywhere NEAR the dancefloor/bar area . . because I'm a chicken) whenever I start dancing and he doesn't drink because he doesn't want me to feel like the only abstainer.
Bubbahead - proves, yet again, that he doesn't have an ounce of protectiveness in his body. He just lets Military Mike spit his game and laughs everytime he does something inappropriate. He also gets very drunk and bowls a 47. How do you bowl a 47??? Especially when you TOOK bowling in college???
Brian - spent all night textmessaging some girl from his phone. According to the guys, he has NO chance with this girl. . . but hopes that, if nothing else, his persistence will at least get his foot in the door.
Brittany - can't really say anything about Brian because she was bombarded with text messages of her own. And answered them. All. Because . . .umm . . I'm addicted to text-mail. I'm in a 12 step program. I'm working on my problems. When I'm not text messaging, I am: Bowling badly, dancing with Cody, dodging Military Mike, watching ESPN on the big screen and avoiding looking at the bar at all for fear that I will make eye contact with someone I know.
Random: Mr. I Have to Cancel Our Date Tonight Because I Have a Family Emergency texted me at 10:30 PM with: "What are you doing?" Answer: "Out with friends." Return: "Wanna come to Little Rock." Answer: "Why?" Return: "I got bored. I'm at the Cowboy. Feel like dancing?" Answer: "No, have fun. Don't get raped . . . or roped." What the hell is wrong with Andy? Is he on crack? He's Mr. Perfect and attentive during the whole The Someone thing . . . I cook him dinner and we have a fabulous date where I manage NOT to break down. I don't hear from him for a week. When I do hear from him, it's a random textmail. He finally calls and asks me out again. Four days later he's a text messaging fool for me. That lasts two days. Then we're supposed to have our date and he cancels. Only to textmail me the same night and ask me to come meet him at the club?????? HUH?? Will SOMEONE please explain men to me?
But it's my fault. The boy is sex on legs. So I let him do this crap. JAYZUS, he's hot.
Anyway. Back to the Night O Fun at Millenium. The boys bowl badly, even more badly than myself, seeing as how I beat all of them . . but Cody. They behaved themselves in a realatively decent manner considering the amount of beer ingested, the amount of women they hit on (quite successfully, I must say) and the amount of trashtalking they did to the Hillbillies in the lane next to us. All in all, it was a good night. Minus the Andy confusion and the Military Mike debacles.
I hate to admit it, but I might actually LIKE the bowling alley again. If I had any friends (other than my brother's friends) who would go with me, but I don't, I would make a habit of this.
PS - Robin, ha ha ha, I am almost 90% sure that I saw Mr. I Fell Asleep In My Car Waiting On You to Come Out boy. And the reason I'm 90% sure of it, is because he was with Mitchell - Kasi's make-out partner #2 from that night. I almost roused you from bed to come up to the Millenium. Oh boy. Woo hoo! Are you SURE you never want to set foot in there again?? Cause the boy could dance . . and he was relatively attractive. Come on, girl, you know you wanna go bowling. :)
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
If He Does One More Sweet, Perfect, Proves-He-Knows-Me-Deep-Down Thing, I'm Going to Have to Kill Myself
As though it's not enough that he proclaimed his love for me (for over 5 years!) in one of the sweetest emails ever.
As though it's not enough that he offered me, and truly would give me one, a kidney.
He does this:
Textmail: Baby, is there something you forgot to tell me??
Because I'm completely paranoid lately (for good reason), and because I hate hurting people, I start racking my brain.
What could this be about?
Did he call my brother and find out what the doctor said this morning?
Did he talk to Cody and find out that I had a semi-psuedo-date thing arranged for tonight?
What, what, what???
Textmail: Ummm . . . I don't think so.
And for 15 minutes, I continue to go nucking futs crazy trying to figure out what kind of trouble I'm in.
Textmail: I think you did. And I think it was on purpose. I'm calling you at noon.
I'm in trouble.
Me: Umm, Hi.
Bryan: So why didn't you tell me?
Me: I don't even get a hi?
Bryan: Hi. Why didn't you tell me?
Me: I really REALLY don't know what you're talking about.
Bryan: You didn't bother to mention that this weekend was the Razorbacks first Spring Game.
Every muscle in my body unclenches and I almost jump out of my chair in relief.
Me: Why would I tell you?
Bryan: Because I know you want to go.
Me: Well, yeah.
Bryan: I can fly in Friday night, if you want. We can go to the game Saturday and I'll fly back out here Saturday night. I don't want you to miss the game and I know no one else really cares about going.
He's going to FLY for ONE DAY from FL to AR to take me to a spring football game??
Me: You can't be serious.
Bryan: I know how you feel about your Hogs and I wouldn't mind seein what Dick's been workin on, especially if they're really red shirting Mustain. If you want to go, tell me now, so I can work out the flight arrangements.
He's SERIOUS and, big smile here, he knows my Razorbacks and their plans for play. Gotta admire a man that appreciates college football. Especially SEC football. Especially Arkansas football. Even if Houston Nutt is a moron.
Me: Oh, Bryan, that's okay, really. Mike's going to get the play tape for me, so I can see what they're doing. And I was just in Fayetteville last weekend. Plus, I already made plans. I'm going to be in Hot Springs Friday and Saturday.
Bryan: Are you sure? You're not just saying that because you don't want me to go to any trouble?
Jayzus, does he know me or what??
Me: No, seriously. I am going to be in Hot Springs. And Mike assures me he can get the play tapes. It's not a big deal.
Bryan: Okay, if you're sure. But if you change your mind, call me later tonight and I'll book the flights.
Me: No, it's good, I promise.
Bryan: Okay. Hey, did you see Deeb win in Aruba?
Me: Against that 20-yr old that can't even play tournament in the States yet?
Bryan: You watched!
Me: Ummm, yah, it's poker, hello???!!?? That kid was LUUUUCKYYYY, he should have been eliminated WAY earlier. The river saved his butt two or three times.
Bryan: He was makin crazy stupid bets.
This is why he's one of the best friends EVARR!!!
This is why I'm so scared I'm going to lose him as a friend!
True, Indy, I swear, I'm trying to get over the past and maybe try something with him.
But, the feelings weren't there before . . why would they suddenly show up?
But I do want to keep him as a friend.
Because he knows me so well.
And because I love him.
As a friend.
Poker AND willing to fly hundreds of miles JUST to take me to a Spring exhibition??
I'm the dumbest girl alive.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
One of these instances occurred today . . the first one . . . the rest have occurred over the past few weeks.
Some of you know about them, because you were lucky enough to be treated to them via email, IM or phone.
The rest of you . . well, here’s your chance:
Going For It
So, I admit, I’m a little feverish today.
I think my body’s unhappy with last weeks hospital festivities.
It’s possible that I’m trying to fight off an infection.
Lovely little 102 temperature today.
Which just makes me spacey beyond reason.
And makes me want to feel better and have fun.
So I make my own fun.
I’m STUCK in traffic this morning.
Yeah, like 20 minutes of NOT moving.
But, no prob, I got jams, I got dancing vibes, I’m down.
I pop in a rap mix CD, drop the windows, open the sunroof (it’s a beautiful day, people!) and start having fun.
Which, you guys know, means I’m dancing around my car like a lunatic.
To Notorious BIG and Bone, Thugs and Harmony’s "Notorious Thugs."
Old school - yeah. But whatever. I love it.
And I really don’t care (mainly because of the fever, I’m sure, otherwise I’m very socially conscious of what others think about me) if people see me losing it.
I’ve got my arms over my head, my torso is doing a bit of an undulation thing and my hips are rotating in my seat.
Don’t ask, okay, just go with it.
I’m mentally thinking:
"You’re a stupid skank. Take True’s advice. Bryan said he wanted to be used. Use him. Let him take you dancing. You’re dying to dance. When he gets back, you’ll tell him you’ll go. Yep, that’s a plan. Woo hoo. We got plans."
Again, I’m feverish, let me have my inner dialogue with myself.
And make no mistake, it was a dialogue.
Not a monologue.
It was totally two sided.
THIS is when I notice there’s a gentleman in the vehicle next to me.
Watching me. Windows down, listening to the music and laughing.
He notices me noticing him.
"Gurl! Whatchu doin listen to this and workin it like that? You white."
Ummm . . he’s dressed very nicely - - grey slacks, white button up, tie.
Very attractive man.
No gold or diamonds in his grill.
Why does he talk like that??
"Yep, but it’s a good song. You have to move to a good song."
He laughs at me and then says "If you need to back it up, gurl, I got somethin you can back up on. Give me yo number and I’ll take ya out."
Yeah, ummm, no thanks.
"Gee, thanks, but I’ve got a boyfriend."
Lie lie lie.
He laughs at me again.
Then goes back to rapping with the song.
Take note, boys.
He saw something he liked and he went for it.
Shot down, but at least he tried.
Next . . .
Complimenting the Girl
A few weeks ago, I was walking into one of the centers I’m contracted with and a father of one of the students is walking out.
I’ve seen him before, but his child isn’t in therapy, so I’ve never had need to talk to him.
He sees me walking towards him and does this:
Stops in the middle of the sidewalk.
Clutches his chest.
Clenches his eyes closed.
Exclaims a loud moan.
Then says: "Ooh ooh ooh, Ms. Nurse Lady (umm, scrubs mean nurse??), you betta take my pulse cause I think you just gave me a heart attack. Du-aaamn you fine."
I start laughing so hard I can’t stand up straight.
"Oh, don’t laugh at a playa, I’m just lettin you KNOW."
I giggle again and then apologize.
A few days later, I ran into him again.
This time he said:
"I’d ask for your number, but gurl, I got it already. You must be 9-1-1 cause everytime I see you I need an ambulance."
Yeah, it’s gay and cheesy and stupid.
But did it make me smile ALL.DAY.LONG??
Compliment the ladies, guys.
Even if it is cheesy and overacted. :)
Never Give Up
A few weeks ago I was at Sonic.
Stopped mid-day to grab an Ocean Water and a break from my kids.
Love my kids, but sometimes need a break.
Anywho . . .
Next to me at the drive-in was a man in a Lincoln Navigator.
I was checking out the Navigator.
Not the man.
Trust me on this.
But the man thought I was checking him out.
He caught my eye, winked at me and motioned for me to roll down the window.
Umm. . . no.
I look away hurriedly and try and pretend I never saw him motion.
But, for safety’s sake, I’m still looking surruptitiously out of curiousity.
Big (as in tall and muscular), bald black man.
When he smiled, he showed gold teeth with diamonds.
He had more gold on his fingers than in his teeth, but not by much.
He’s still staring and trying to get me to pay attention.
Umm . . no.
So I get my Ocean Water and go.
See my kids, am walking downstairs to take them back to class and . ..
See Mr. Bling in the lobby of the center.
Yeah, apparently his child goes to the daycare.
And he starts chatting me up.
And Deedra, god love her, is HELPING him chat me up.
I finally beg off and run to the bathroom . . and wait until he has left.
I then tear into Deedra.
But get this from her:
"Girl! He’s into you. He’s hot. And he’s got dough. You gotta start lovin on the brothers."
She gets this:
"He’s got gold teeth. He tried to pick me up at Sonic. He has children. And I’m not interested."
"Yah, brother’s got a grill on him. Alright, Ms. Brittany, but if another one starts up, I’m givin them your card."
Remind me to kill my friends/co-workers.
He’s still asking me out.
Ran into him yesterday while he was picking up his kid.
He offered to take me out for "uh fine meal and whateva else you want."
I gotta give it to him.
So there are your lessons for the day, boys.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Before you realize I’m gone
I’m still here
Still in front of you
But there’s distance
There has to be
But it’s there
Will you see it
Sentences strung together
I heard them
Marking them off in my mind
You’re not the girl I know.
The happy-go-lucky, always a smile, always saying yes, anything to help girl.
What happened to that girl?
Was she so bad?
Ignoring the issue
Pretending it wasn’t between us
Like the inches I had already started to put there
Sunday, April 09, 2006
I think they look for reasons to make you pay more money.
Uh huh. I have a theory. I'm not really sick at all.
They've just figured out how anal retentive I am and therefore KNOW they will get paid immediately, so they find reasons to keep me around and bill me more. Uh huh.
Anyway . . .
So late Friday afternoon, I find myself packing bags and the vehicle.
The best way to forget about everything is to go somewhere where you know NO ONE.
Yeah, only, there are very few places I've found where I know NO ONE.
Before Robin arrives Friday for us to leave, I call my broker in Fayetteville because he's been hounding me to meet him to discuss finances and (odd, I know, but he's my ex-fiancee's best friend) his recent divorce.
I call as a courtesy, because I know he'll kill me if he finds out I was in his neck of the woods and didn't dial.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten (which is really crazy, since I had just spent a few hours in a hospital bed watching baseball) that it was Spring and Jeff (ex) and Mike (broker) are ALWAYS on the go in the spring because they're SEC umpires as well as little league and high school baseball and blah blah blah.
So, I dial, expecting to get Mike to have a nice, civilized, adult, no worries conversation with.
Nu uh. I should have known better.
Jeff: What do YOU want?
Me: Umm . . Mike?
Jeff: Does it sound like Mike, sweets?
Me: Holy buddha, what the hell are you doing answering Mike's phone?
Jeff: He's driving.
Me: Where are you two lovebirds off to?
Jeff: Oh ha ha ha, Britts you always were a laugh riot. Save the joke telling for the comedians.
Me: Bite me.
Jeff: Been there, done that . . .
Me: Yeah, and you're still mourning the loss, aren't ya, champ?
Jeff: Did you have a reason for calling?
Me: Yeah, I was gonna see what Mike was up to tonight, needed to talk to him some more about Synagro and I'm gonna be in Fayetteville.
Jeff: (obviously putting on a show for Mike) I know you were calling him to see if he could talk me into giving you some this weekend, but I've told you, I can't do that anymore. I'm a changed man.
Me: OMG! JEFF! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! This isn't EVEN funny!
Jeff: It's cool. Mike knows you're a hooker. How else could you afford all those stocks? Isn't that right Mike?
Me: I'm going to kill you. It's going to be long and slow and painful and I don't mean in the ways you used to enjoy. I mean bloodletting and finger breaking and toe nail removal.
Jeff: Can't kill me. We're almost to Peoria, Illinois. We're out of your telepathic, telekinetic range. Me: Give the phone to Mike.
Jeff: She wants to see if you'll pay her instead. (as he hands the phone to Mike)
Mike: laughing I know better than to listen to him, babe, he's full of shit.
Me: Yet, you still remain his friend.
Mike: So, I've got bad taste. What's up? You in Fayetteburgh (inside joke)?
Me: Yep, gonna be.
Mike: How do you always manage to be in town when I'm out of it?
Me: Lucky, I guess.
Mike: Can I call you Monday about Synagro? And maybe set up a trip to the Rock to see you, since I'm never in the Burgh when you are?
Me: Only if you promise to smack Jeff in the face with a baseball bat at one of the clinics this weekend.
Mike: Done deal.
Me: Sweet, ring me Monday.
Why does he do that crap to me?
In front of other people?
Why do I even talk to my ex, or let his friends manage my finances?
But do I stop getting myself in trouble with the phone?
We're on the road and somehow my ex Hesston comes into the convo (remember him, the one that you guys thought had to be gay, but I was pretty sure was just overly metro-sexual? Mr. Thinking of Wearing my Prada Shirt with my Kenneth Cole Jeans and the Cole Hahn brown shoes?).
So, for only God knows what reason, I dial his number.
He's thrilled I'm heading in his direction but . . .
the conversation is still a bit stilted (ummm, duh) and when we hang up, even Robin's screaming "Wow, that was uncomfortable even for me, and I wasn't involved in it."
But 10 minutes later, the phone rings with a text mail.
I'm assuming it's Bryan checking in again.
Since he's in Miami on business and has been checking in periodically to see when I was released, what the doctor's said, how I am doing and so on and so forth.
The things you do when you know a friend has been through trauma.
Check on them. Support them. Let them know you care.
Only, it's not Bryan.
Hesston: "Have you decided if you're going to Fayetteville, Fort Smith or Tulsa?"
3 minute pause.
"I could come see you guys tomorrow night, if you want."
Robin, practically screaming: "DO NOT ANSWER THAT! Just act like you never got it! What the hell is that?? Meet us??"
Yeah, I don't know either.
The text mail still hasn't been answered.
I did notice he called twice last night.
Thank heavens for silent mode.
What the buddha have I done??
Sometimes I regret that my female friends are not sports oriented.
Robin and I are in Mason's looking at leather sling backs when:
Steven Hill - 7'0" Center for the Razorbacks walks in with his girlfriend.
I'm about to have a fit and Robin has NO IDEA who he is.
Me: OMG! That's Steven Hill!
Me: Steven Hill, Center for the Razorbacks, basketball, SEC, hello??
Robin: Oh, yeah, I noticed he was freakishly tall. I just thought he was a freak.
Me: Jayzus. Robin, you would think just hanging around me you would know who some of these people are.
Robin: Yeah. No.
Needless to say, I didn't even call her attention to the poker player I saw later in the mall.
She doesn't know SEC players, so she certainly doesn't know local (Shreveport and Tunica) poker champions.
But I was beyond excited.
Now if only I had seen Tony Bua.
Umm, if he hadn't been drafted into the NFL and was in Miami and no where near Fayetteville.
But he is still one of my ALL TIME favorite Razorback football players.
Oh oh oh and I picked up free tickets to any NON-conference Razorback baseball game.
Even though I can get free tickets whenever from Jeff or Mike.
This keeps me from having to ask. :)
Again, I drive 240 miles to get away from people, but instead just see people I haven't seen in years.
We're standing on the porch of the restaurant Saturday night, waiting for our table when I notice a guy walk up in a stone grey button up and black slacks.
I'm doing the typical, check-him-out, not because I'm looking, just because I appreciate a good looking male, thing when I notice . . . ummm, I know this cat.
He was 21, I was 16.
Me - lifeguarding at the city pool.
Him - home for the summer and working for the Parks Department.
Us - Occassionally, randomly, making out.
Okay, so occassionally is a little weak.
When Paul H (parks director) wasn't around and I wasn't on stand, we were in permanent lip lock. And this man could kiss, people.
He has on a wedding ring.
Me: Umm, I think I know him.
Robin: Like, how?
Me: Like he's from Hope and I KNOW him.
Robin: I would be perfectly fine if you didn't talk to him.
Me: I'm not going to.
Robin: No, but you're both staring weirdly at each other. Stop looking or he's going to talk to us.
Me: SORRY! But, gosh, it's been like 10 years since I've seen him. I should say something.
Robin: No. Stop looking at him. Don't say anything.
Yeah, stared at him all through the wait and later caught glimpses of him throughout the meal.
Noticed him looking, too. I think we were both pulling a "Could that be?? No, surely not?? In Fayetteville??"
Not to mention, I'm now a brunette.
And have a completely different body . . . well, save the boobs, the boobs are still the same.
He was eating with an older couple (possibly his in-laws?) that I had never seen.
Wife was noticeably absent.
What is it about someone you USED to make out with. . . that you have this need to know what their life is like now? You don't want them . . . no way, do I need another male complication in my life, but I just . . . curiousity. Big time curiousity. I want to know what his life is now.
Wish I had seen the wife.
And so it goes that after those marginal adventures, it's time to come home.
After a night of NO sleep - - for me - - Robin, in her eyemask and earplugs (not to mention the help of sleeping pills) managed just fine.
I, however, plagued with severe back pain, fear of bleeding all over the sheets again, and listening to the frat boys in the room next to us (who catcalled us on our way in that night) party until 4 AM, am unable to sleep at all. Then we get up at 5 AM and venture back to reality because Robin has to work in the church nursery.
No speedtraps are up at 5 AM on a Sunday, so you can do 90 MPH the whole way back to town and cut a 2 hr 45 min drive to less than 2 hrs.
Robin and I are equally caustic in the morning so we amused ourselves with: witty comments regarding other idiots driving (badly) this early on a Sunday, the origin of the "Pig Trail" nickname for Hwy 71, the fact that the girl has lived in the South her whole life but NEVER smelled the horridness of chicken houses until THIS morning's drive and so on.
Thank God for good friends who try and help you forget your real life for a while.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Bryan: You've got to stop crying.
Bryan: What are you crying about? Him? Me? The kidney thing?
Bryan: You were supposed to choose one.
Bryan: You gonna say "yep" to everything tonight?
Bryan: Do you love me?
Bryan: You really are gonna say "yep" to everything. You don't love me.
Bryan: Yep, you don't, or yep, you do.
Bryan: I'd slap you if you weren't already crying.
Bryan: Are you in love with me?
Me: hiccup-odd look-more crying
Bryan: How did I know that wouldn't get a "Yep?" Are you worried about the doctor tomorrow?
Bryan: Are you crying about the doctor tomorrow?
Me: odd look - more crying
Bryan: Are you crying about him?
Me: odd look - more crying
Bryan: At least you didn't say "yep" to that either. Stop looking at your phone every three minutes.
A few hours later:
Zach: Has she said anything but "yep?"
Bryan: She told me to fuck off when I told her she was better than him and this situation. She also told me to fuck off when I told her that she'd be fine and I'd give her a kidney if she needs one.
Zach: She said "fuck?"
Zach: Drama queen.
Me: sad look - more crying
Zach: Trying to make you laugh here.
Bryan: We gotta do something. I can't watch this anymore. It's depressing and stupid. I don't even know why she's crying! The asshole? The kidney thing? The needle tomorrow? What the hell is she crying about?
Zach: I'm gonna smack you if you say "yep" again.
Me: sad look - more crying
Bryan: Let's get out of here. Let's go to Cajun's and dance. You love to dance. It will take your mind off the doctor.
Me: flips him off - stops crying, ran out of tears
Zach: I think it's pretty evident she doesn't want to go dancing.
Bryan: I got nothin.
Zach: Maybe you should go home. I'll talk to her.
Bryan: I'm not leaving her.
Me: finds more tears somewhere, starts crying again
WHY do my friends still talk to me???
WHY is Bryan the greatest man on the planet and yet I don't want anything to do with him?
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
I can't even sleep without being bothered!
Which makes sense, if you ascribe to the belief that our dreams are where we work out our stresses and fears.
I got, perhaps, three hours of sleep last night.
And they were greatly welcomed.
Because I haven't slept in days and days.
BUT, it was not a restful sleep . . . imagine that! :)
I had a series of nightmares.
One about The Someone.
One about my family.
And lastly, and the one I shall divulge, one about my newfound medical problems.
Some of you have emailed me asking what the doctors said, well:
My kidneys are shutting down.
Quite possibly, this is because of all the medication I've been taking and other factors related to other health problems.
Or it could be something else entirely.
But whatever the cause, they think it's reversible.
And if it's not, hey, just another surgery - right? Kidney transplant.
I'm going in Thursday to learn about the switch in medications I will be doing and to go through a series of other tests, etc.
Tests that my brother decided to enlighten me on last night.
Hence one of the nightmares.
The Nightmare of My Sleep
My brother takes me into the hospital.
The doctor calls us back, but instead of being my regular doctor, it's one of the guys from my brother's nursing class (Matt).
I look at him and say "You're not a doctor."
He answers with "Same diff."
Two other guys - AT and Brian - come into the room.
Before I know what's happening, my brother has helped them get me on the examining table and they are holding me face down on the white butcher paper.
I see Matt pull the BIGGEST NEEDLE I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE out of his scrub pocket and I can hear them telling me "It's only going to hurt for a minute."
My brother is holding down both my legs.
AT and Brian are on either side of me pining down my shoulders.
And Matt says "I'm going to drain your kidneys, they just need to be drained."
And he stabs me in the back with the needle.
I'm screaming and looking over my shoulder and seeing the syringe at the end of the needle fill with all this neon green liquid.
And then I pass out.
And the dream transitions.
But you get the gist.
I guess the nightmare could have been worse.
I could have been dreaming about the kidney transplant.
Anyway . . .
The Actual Nightmare
Bryan, the guy that we all agree there should be more of, bared his heart to me on Monday.
He sent an email that most girls would die to get.
But, per usual, I'm not most girls.
So all this did was tear whatever was left of my heart into teeny, tiny pieces.
Because all of this is too soon.
But to give you an idea . . . this was the first paragraph:
I’ve been debating on whether or not to send you this. I’ve wanted to say these things on some level for as long as we’ve known each other but more in the last few years than ever. I didn’t want to do it because it would seem like I was forcing your hand or trying to hurt you and those aren’t my intentions. I’ve been waiting on you to come to me. It seems like I’m always waiting on you. But I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I don’t know how much longer I can watch you do these things to yourself. I don’t want to watch anymore. You make one bad decision after another. You date men who aren’t fit to lick your shoes. Men who don’t appreciate you and probably never see you for who you really are. They don’t see how brilliant you are, how much you give, how strong you can be, how much you’ve overcome. Jason then Brent then James then Ron. I won’t even talk about the Jeff years. And now this one.
Why does he have to do this to me now?
He has to know that I'm not ready for this.
Not to mention, if it was going to happen, wouldn't it have happened when we dated to begin with??
My friends, God love them, are pushing me to go for Bryan.
They think that the only reason I'm not going for him is my self esteem.
That I think he's too good for me . . .
Ummm, well, duh!
Yeah, that's probably what held me back to begin with.
But not now.
Now it's the timing and the situation and the fact that we've been friends for years, we've dated, if it was going to happen, wouldn't it have happened then???
And then there's the fact that my heart is still in pieces . . God, it's only been two weeks.
I love him. I do.
But it's as a friend.
It's a daydream.
That everything magically fixes itself.
I get everything I want.
The love of my life, my friendships resettled with no one hating me for the choices I've made over the past few weeks, my health magically restored, my bills paid off . . . .
Okay, I'd settle for just the health thing.
Or just the love thing.
Maybe even just the friends thing.
The bill thing isn't that important.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
I know you guys are so sick of Heartbreak Hotel Brittany.
So, I started writing a post sans Elvis influence.
But it still ended up being depressing because, ummm, yeah, that's the flavor of the week.
BUT, it wasn't about The Someone.
It was about the letter.
I love mail.
I'm one of those throw-backs to olden days who actually prefers pen and paper.
I like seeing someone's handwriting.
I like the idea that you can't just backspace and delete.
That what you were feeling or thinking was written RIGHT THEN and you couldn't rethink it.
I like how letters smell.
Depending on who wrote it.
My grandmother's letters always smell like Poison.
I'm sure it's because she applies it liberally to her wrists, then while writing, the scent transfers to the paper.
Garrett's letters always smell of Kenneth Cole.
E-mails don't smell.
Friday's letter smelled like linen.
That off-kilter smell that all linen has, no matter how often you wash it.
There was no handwriting.
Just type-written letters spelling out my greatest fears.
I knew it when I saw the return address.
When I saw the envelope with the glossy window.
I refused to open it.
Tonight was about fun. Robin's birthday. Friends, good food, presents and cake. Laughter, reminiscing, good-natured ribbing, loyalty and love.
But as the laughter died down and the house began to empty, the letter was on my mind.
I couldn't wait any longer.
Leaving the lingerers in the living room, I took the letter to the bathroom.
Unusual lab results.
Normal range <40.
Your range >500.
It will sound crazy, but I was relieved.
At least I wasn't wondering anymore.
I knew what it said.
And, as always, I will deal with it.
I will be fine.
I am fine.
I plastered the smile back on my face and went back to friends.
Serving pie and cake, washing dishes in the sink, hugging people goodbye.
And the conversation I had months earlier with a friend returned.
"I don't think it would be fair to be loved. It's not fair to require someone to go through these things with me. To watch them hurt because I'm sick or hurting."
And think maybe God does have his reasons for things not working out sometimes.
Yes, it is more than possible that these readings mean nothing.
Just something out of whack.
Restructure the medications again.
Add some things, take some things away.
Illness as my body reacclimates itself to the changes.
Exercise to combat the chemical changes that play havoc on my metabolism.
But it's something I get to do alone again.
I won't feel the guilt I used to feel watching Ron or Jeff take off work to go to the doctor with me, out of a sense of obligation and loyalty.
The anger at having them constantly remind me that I couldn't or shouldn't do something just because I'm technically sick.
The shame I felt when I couldn't do the things for them I always had, be the person I had always been, because I was too tired or too depressed to do them or be that.
The degradation of having to ask for help to do the millions of things I volunteer for when I'm well, but can't handle alone when I'm not.
As I type this, I'm looking at my brother and his friends sitting around my living room.
Wishing I could spare him, as well.
Trying not to pick a fight.
Something to make him angry enough at me to leave me alone for a while.
So he won't have to see it start again.
But I'm jumping ahead of myself.
It's possible it's nothing.
But as Jeff said so aptly, years ago: “With your medical history, with everything you’ve been through, with the medications you’re on . . . do you think it’s nothing? . . . "