love blossoms...or...marry your dad, at least you'll know what you're in for

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I met my honey, Michael, when I was nineteen. He worked with my roommate and would come home for lunch with him. I couldn’t stand him at first. He liked me and was always staring at my ass or whatever. I could feel him staring and it was pissing me off. We started to spend more time talking. I took him to a reggae show on my birthday, just to see if the sparks would fly. They didn’t. And on the way home he pissed me off cause he wanted to drink a beer in my car on the ride home. We continued to hang out, though, all together. Then he had a moving-in party at his new apartment. How different would my life be now if I had stayed home that night?

By the end of the evening, everyone had left but me. I was far too drunk to drive home. So I was sitting there on the couch with Michael and his roommate, Chris, who incidentally, is the single most retarded and obnoxious person I have ever met, to this day. I guess Chris felt like he needed to exercise his ball sack or something cause he started talking a bunch of shit to Michael about how he was such a loser and he wouldn’t have that apartment if he hadn’t called Chris to be his roommate and help him pay for it. Michael kept his cool, told Chris to fuck off a couple times. I got mad however, and I felt this uncontrollable urge to slap the shit out of Chris. So I did, with my sharp ass tongue. I took Michael by the hand and proceeded to cut Chris as far down to the ground as I could. I felt like I needed to defend him. It was a very strong feeling. A very powerful feeling. I felt like Michael needed me. It was like some overwhelming biological urge.

I stayed with Michael that night, and I tried to get laid, but he wouldn’t have sex with me cause I was sloppy drunk. What a sweet guy, huh? So that was the beginning. We’ve been together for four years now. Seems so long ago.

Within the first two months of our relationship, he had his first drunken episode. We had driven my car to Newport, on the coast, to visit his mom’s old boyfriend. We went to a chowder house and the two of them had drinks, and all was well until the drive home. He somehow got fixated on the idea that the dentist I was working for at the time wanted to sleep with me. A totally absurd, baseless idea, but he just wouldn’t stop. He punched my windshield out while I was driving 60 mph 80 miles from home. He passed out and I drove home in silence. I don’t even remember what I was thinking at the time, but I remember what I was not thinking: that this was outrageous, off the wall , disturbing behavior and that I needed to run far and fast from this guy. That is what I was not thinking. Sad, isn’t it? My own dad would shudder to think that he had conditioned his own daughter to think that this was acceptable behavior. I knew it was fucked up, but I wasn’t as shocked as I might have been had my own daddy not been an alcoholic.

Michael is the man of my dreams. All of the things that make me difficult are things that he can tolerate. Isn’t that romantic? Really, though, I don’t know that there is another man that is so compatible with me. He is smart and patient and thoughtful. He works hard. He’s a wonderful daddy. He’s almost exactly like the man who raised me.

After two years we decided to make a baby. We were so happy together that it seemed easy to dismiss the drunken episodes since they only came every other month or so. The times in between were bliss. I never once thought about leaving him when he was sober. It was literally like living with two completely different people.

get a fucking job you piece of shit.....and I met a Weird Lady

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Well, i'm going back into the automotive customer service deal. It should be better this time cause I'll be working for Honda instead of BMW, and Honda just has less pissed off people. They didn't pay 50,000 dollars for a car that sucks,so they are generally in better spirits. They also changed the dress code since I was there so now we can wear jeans EVERYDAY! Thank goodness. But sitting through a week of training is pretty excruciating.

The snow is melting today...it didn't budge from 19 degrees for like 5 days, then we wake up yesterday and it's 45 degrees. I came out into the living room that morning thinking that Michael had started a huge fire for me or something cause I didn't wake up in the middle of the night freezing my assss off, groping around for another blanket. But nope, it's just warm outside.

I didn't used to think that 45 degrees was warm, but a couple winters over here has changed my perspective.

So I was cooking at this burger joint a couple months ago. My good friend-girl worked there with me. Most of the people there were lacking basic intelligence and common sense....for instance: the other cook there is this 40 year old dude with the mentality of a fifteen year old boy. He tried to tell me once that Advil and ibuprofin were not the same thing. He tried to tell me that Detroit Lake was not a man made lake, and that in fact, there were NO man-made lakes in Oregon..... Well what's up with that big fucking DAM you drive by you fucking retard!!!! He also worships Bon Jovi, and his trademark saying was(he seriously said this to me like 25 times in the three months I worked there)"Bon Jovi can slow down a song, and sing it to give it a whole new meaning" and he would get teary-eyed just talking about it. This guy doesn't have alot to do with my whole point, but you could understand why I quit, right?

Anyway, there was also this seventeen year-old boy who I really got along with. He's just a really good kid...he's smart and has tact and is interested in learning things(which was the opposite of everyone else there). I met his mom, and she first struck me as a little weird...kind of intimidating, but more weird in a way I just couldn't put my finger on. Everyone said she was a weird lady, but we got along okay, and I thought that she was probably just socially retarded and came off wrong alot. My honey is kind of like that.

So i started working for her. She had a couple cleaning accounts. I started helping her clean the athletic club every night, and the laundrymat once in awhile. She was really easy to work for...she didn't follow me around and harass me. But it was hard to listen to her bitch about her kid's dad, and everything else. She is the kind of lady who is very bitter, and only sees things one dimentionally. I also started to see what an overbearing mother she was. If one of her kids didn't get a requested day off, she'd come down and bitch at our boss. If one of them didn't have enough hours, she'd come down and bitch at our boss. Her poor son....he was a very non-confrontational kid, and would get really embarrassed, but was helpless.

So one night were cleaning the athletic club, and she corners me(I swear she did) and asks me who I get my smoke from. I say, "Oh, just a friend in Bend", and she starts harrassing me..."Come on, I've been smoking pot for 25 years, I'm no narc..." and just like totally pressuring me. I was so angry at myself for telling her because I didn't want to, and I had been too weak to say no....I totally let her bully me, and that pissed me off. So I told her. The person in question happened to be my good friend-girl that I mentioned before.

So I get home from work that night and the first thing I do is call her, cause I felt icky about the whole thing, and I wanted her to know. She wasn't thrilled....since she was one of the people who told me that lady was weird, but it was no big deal. Then about a week later, this weird, stupid fucking lady goes up to my friend AT WORK and says, "I know what you do, and I won't tell anyone, but I really need an eighth." Oh my god. So my friend comes over after work, all upset cause this happened at work (keep in mind that the weird lady's son, who is straight edge, works there too, and this is not what my friend wants to be associated with at work), and because she had broken too. She didn't want to tell her 'yes' but she felt cornered and wussed out. (sounds familiar) And because she had already told her boyfriend that this lady was a freak, so she didn't want to come home doing business with the weird fuckin lady. So she ended up lying to her and saying that her boyfriend had a paranoid episode and got rid of it all, and gave her her money back. Which was fine, and worked out okay.

But this weird lady still owes me 40 dollars for cleaning.

A couple days after everything blew over, I went to bill collect her ass, so I could tell her just how immature and disrespectful I think she is. She didn't have my money, so I had to hold it all back. Then she lied to my face and said that my friend-girl had approached HER and jumbled the story all around. I couldn't believe that she was lying to me. She could have said something like:'sorry, i was jonesin real bad and fucked up' or something!!!!! So this was like two weeks ago, and she left me a message that since payday was a Saturday, and Monday was a holiday, she'd have my money this week. I stopped by there the day before yesterday, and she's still acting like nothing happened...is she just ignoring the good possibility that the other two of us ALREADY TALKED ABOUT IT? I mean, hello? So I am still waiting to tell her off. I am going to tell her that: 'everyone said you were a weirdo, but i gave you the benefit of the doubt cause i thought maybe you just come off wrong, but now i see that you are just a big fat-mouthed liar, and I believe now that everything you said about your ex was a lie, too, and (i have to fit this in there someplace) i feel sorry for your kids.'

So I don't know...my intuition was way off this time. I don't recall ever catching anyone lying to my face. I think I will go with the popular vote next time, just to see how that works for me. You can't be wrong everytime, right?

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'humiliation, so sweet' -or- 'this post should make up for all the terrible things I ever did, thought, or said'

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So I moved to McMinnville, where I had all the friends and family that I needed. Things went real well for me there. I had my fake I.D. I was a party animal, spending all my tips at the bar after work. It was fun being the new girl in town. I had many options as far as the opposite sex went. I met my bestest girlfriend, Rama, and we shared a house together. It was the fun time in my life when I look back from where I am now. Sometimes I pine for the freedom I had then. When you are single, sooner or later you get lonely and start to hate it, but five years later, it seems like such a dream come true. I fell deeply in love for the first time around then. I met Him. He lived in a van. By choice, now, people. He was simple like that. A saving type. Didn’t believe in rent. He was everybody’s friend. Everyone loved Him. He played blues guitar. He traveled a lot. He would just pick up and drive to New Orleans. He was a free spirit. We only really dated for about a month. I wanted him so bad. He said that I had perfect breasts. He didn’t love me back, though. He was the kind of person who never talked badly of people. He avoided confrontation. I don’t even remember what he said, but I do remember my pitiful begging and pleading. I begged him to have sex with me outside of his dad’s house in my car one night. (This memory is stored in the ‘humiliation’ section of my memory library). I think he thought I wanted to snag him with a baby, which I didn’t (I was birth controlled) but he would only put it in the holiest of holes. Yup. I was so love sick that I didn’t care. I just wanted to be close to him. That was the one and only time that happened. Never again. Humiliation. At least the humiliation was self imposed. He didn’t talk shit. He is still my good friend to this very day, though it took me a year to get over it. He never made me feel foolish or like a stupid girl (the way I made myself feel) and he always treated my feelings with respect. He stuck it out because he really wanted to be my friend. He wasn’t just saying that. He was right in the long run anyhow, I realized later. What I wanted is what Michael gave me- a baby and a home and a family. He didn’t want those things. We would have ended up unhappy. He runs his dad’s tow yard now, and he still lives in a van.

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if you can't beat 'em, join 'em 

moving on with it.

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Living with my mom was fun. I was a respected member of the family committee once more, I had to pay 125 dollars a month for rent. That made me feel growed-up. Sisters was awesome. Up here in the mountains there are actual seasons. I liked the snow and sun. Which is where I am now, which is seven years from the time I left, so I suppose there is more to tell. When I drove my little 1980 Accord up into the snow I thought I had it under control. I got clear up the driveway where I could see the house, then I buried my car in a snow bank. I carried what I needed to the house, then had to look at my car out the kitchen window for three weeks until there was enough melt to dig it out. The melt, however, had encased my wheels in ice, and I had to bust it all off with a 2 by 4. Where was your dad when you needed him? It was funny, though. I had to go out every day and dig the snow off of it so no one would crash into it. So when I got a job at Figaro’s across town, I was less than thrilled to walk there in the snow. The first person I met in Sisters was Saylor. Saylor was a pretty girl my age. She was charismatic in a way, but she was also one of those energy-sucking people. The ones who after awhile, make you realize that you don’t have the energy to spare. She could be fun, but she was also very confrontational. It seemed like she was in a fight with someone at any given time. She introduced me to her friends, and her boyfriend Tom. I had actually met Tom awhile before I moved to Sisters, because he was working for my mom at a restaurant here in town. Anyhow, Tom and I totally hit it off. Once in a while you meet someone you can talk to for hours and hours and never run out of things to say. That’s how it was for Tom and me. There was nothing devious about it really. We were just terrific friends. I really needed a terrific friend. When Saylor fucked around and gave him an STD, I drove him to the health department. We would go out to dinner a lot. We just enjoyed each others company. Saylor became lamer and lamer- not that she got much worse, it was just the more time you were around her, the less you liked her. I stopped returning her calls, stopped being home at her regularly scheduled times (she always came over after work and school). Tom dumped her at some point, I don’t know when. But after living in Sisters for a year, we got the news that they were going to burn down our house, along with the thirty or so others that made up the shantytown where we lived. Sisters is not an area known for cheap rent, and what there was, they were burning down. Our roommate Craig and I looked at a couple places to rent together. I wanted to stay. Craig was like my best friend. He was 25 or something at the time. We had a lot of fun together. Craig was a very sweet, devoted kind of person, and when he came home drunk from the bar one night and said he was in love with me, I was crushed. I did love him very, very much, but not as a lover. The worst part is how to tell someone that. Someone you really care for. Someone who’s feelings you really value. Especially when no one else has ever professed their love to you. That’s when I decided I had to move away. Craig was the kind of person that would give me anything I wanted. The kind of person who I could manipulate, and knowing all of the bad things about myself, I knew that before the end he would probably hate me or hate himself, so that’s what I told him. I’m sure it didn’t make him feel any better. So I got a hold of Tammy, my old neighbor who lived next door before I went to live with my dad. Tammy is 11 years older than I, I used to raise her kids while she worked. She gave me a safe place to go to smoke and drink and party, and since it was only next door, I think my mom was glad. Tammy and I had always been in touch, and now she and her husband Mike were living in Milwaukee (actually, the city limit sign was right in front of our house, so technically, the kids’ room and the bathroom were in Portland, and the rest of the house was in Milwaukee) and were totally down for renting me a room. So I got packed up and ready to go. When I told Craig, he was very um, I don’t know, gracious, I guess. He didn’t make me feel bad, and he didn’t make the last days awkward, for which I was very thankful. When I got in touch with Tom, who was pretty much the only other person who cared, he was excited. He had talked to his mom in Washington the night before and she wanted him to come live up there and go to school. So he decided. I thought it was rad! I was going to move away to the city and my very best friend was moving only 45 minutes away. Tom had lived here all his life, and we were just glad that we wouldn’t be all alone. Then it got ruined. Sexual tension, dudes. It was fucked up. He came to stay a couple times and we would just talk and laugh like always. But one night we started making out and ended up doing the deed. God, it felt weird. As soon as we were done, I knew it was a mistake. We didn’t look at each other the same. We still talked on the phone and wrote a couple letters after that but I didn’t invite him to stay and he didn’t ask to. I don’t know what. I was 17; I was still very self conscious. Maybe it was the fact that he saw my fat ass, and I didn’t have all the confidence I now have in my sexual skin. I did not love it, either way. That is one of my biggest regrets in life, really. I have never met someone else like him. I’m afraid that I never will. I think most people don’t. And there have been many times since that I needed a friend like that. Living in the city freaked me out. The traffic and the anonymity. Those were the worst two things. I may have had a different time if I’d been older, but I was lonely and bored. I never told Tom I was moving. I got a forwarded letter he wrote and didn’t reply. I felt ashamed for some reason. I can’t explain that icky feeling. Lack of vocab, I guess.

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