28 December 08
By Crystal Laramore
Ohhh Santa!
Sooooo. Was everybody good this year? Did you all get what you wanted for Christmas? Did you get something you didn’t even know you wanted? Hopefully everyone had a surprise or two in their stocking. And for all you mean people out there…well, we hope you got what you deserve as well.
What about giving? Did you give some special gifts? Did you give some funny gifts? Those are my favorite. I love finding that perfect funny gift that makes me LOL IN the store! I gave my sister a compact mirror that read: Eat, Drink & Remarry! LOL! LOL! LOL!
I wonder if anyone who’s been reading my Blogs can guess what my predominant gift was this year to give-to my girlfriends… I’ll give you a hint: It was a book…Ok, I gave out several copies of “Why Men Love Bit*hes”. I giggled soooo much giving out those books to my girlfriends. And guys don’t get your tinsel in a tangle. Bit*h isn’t defined as you might think. No one wants to be around a traditional bit*h, but everyone wants to be around a self-assured woman who is not a doormat. Get the book. If you are a man, get the book for your woman. Or your daughter. Or your sister. Or your mother…
Face Book gave me an unexpected gift; they took a stand against women showing themselves breast-feeding their babies on their site. What IS the point of showing the world (what should be) a private moment between a woman and her newborn baby? No it’s NOT porn but some sicko out there will certainly turn something beautiful into something ugly. What is the big deal about keeping it off the big screen? Are we that narcissistic? Is there ANYTHING left (apparently not for the Left) that we want to keep sacred and private?
But I digress…a long time ago a woman I worked with was getting new carpet in her house for Christmas and the look on my face could have doubled on a horror flick. How impersonal! Doesn’t HE get to use the carpet TOO? Anyway it was what she wanted. It took me over twenty years to appreciate that. This Christmas I got an ice machine! Not only did mama get a brand new ice machine but also, Santa kicked the mean ice machine-man out of my restaurant! It was great! Scrooge vs. Santa. Santa won!
Another great Christmas gift I received this year was a box of Blue Diamond Organic crackers. Glutton-free too! I don’t really know what glutton is, but I do know it’s some really good stuff! So, whatever the Blue Diamond people are putting in their crackers, to make up for taking out the glutton, its working. I’ve been coveting my girlfriend Kathy’s crackers (no, not her big-a$ house, just her crack-ers) for so long that she bought me 87 boxes of various flavors of these addictive crack(hmmm)ers. Secretly, Kathy must wonder if I’m there to visit her or the crack-ers…I DO spend a lot of time in her pantry. Anyway, the presents you never even thought of are the ones that mean the most. I certainly think she was LOL IN the store!
Just a little side note: In all fairness, Kathy owes me all the crack-ers I can eat in my lifetime. When I was sad, depressed and barely hanging on by my chewed up fingernails, doing the ugly cry on the freeway one Sunday evening, I pulled over to pull it together and called my “friend” Kathy. See, when you are depressed you need to know where all of your friends live and you need to know all of their addictions so you can choose who will best fit your needs at any particular point in your meltdown/healing process. This particular night I needed wine and since my sister was and hour and half south, I called Kathy. And women all around the world know the ugly-must have wine- cry when they hear it.
And you need to choose girlfriends with really great husbands too. Ron (Kathy’s husband) built us a fire, told me what a *&(^%$ Richard was, drank a little wine (not too much or we’ll get pissed off that you’re into our stash) with us and then politely dismissed himself so we could trash the male species as a whole.
After we drank the case, err, I mean a few bottles of wine, Kathy showed me to my suite and made sure I was still breathing before she closed the door. When I awoke the next morning, sleepy, groggy and following the scent of coffee, I staggered down the long hallway to the great room. The 47 dogs she has rescued surrounded me and before I could really think I heard one of the dogs squawking really loud. Hmmm. What a strange noise to be coming from a dog…then I looked up just in time to see a 10-foot span of green feathers flying at me-Ahhh the squawking seems to be coming from the moving green thing-And the moving green thing is on my freaking head-BITING my freaking ear! Have you ever heard that girl that’s about to be killed in Friday the 13th scream? Well, Arthur did. I think it was the blood-curdling scream I had needed to get out for a while anyway. Pain and relief at the same time….Ahhhhh. So, for Christmas Arthur got a bullet from me, and it sits on top of his cage. Snicker.
Another great gift was the Copenhaver’s. On Saturday I had the door locked after lunch and Santa must have unlocked it just for Barry & Judy Copenhaver. We drank a few beers and visited and then they were off. They are the couple I wrote the “Respect” article about. I served with their daughter Jill in Baghdad, Iraq. Keep up. And on Tuesday Jill followed suit and the visit was complete!
Anyway, the most important gifts come from the heart. And I gave myself a gift as well; the gift of letting go. Richard got a Dear Jon (that is funnier than most of you know!) letter and I mailed “The Box”. The great thing about letting go is you can look back and realize that what you had wasn’t what you thought you were getting anyway. All the advice from your friends and family finally, after all those tears, makes sense. When the smoke signals settled and the wild look in my eyes calmed down, when the wild kitties and squirrels felt it was safe to return, I was able to look at the man I was crying over and realize I was crying over the idea of him, not him. People can tell you a lot of things but actions really do speak louder than words. Ladies, Gentlemen, KNOW what you want. And know when the show is over.
For decades I’ve told thousands of people, “Until you let go of the negative (no matter if it’s a job or a partner or a friend, or glutton…) you cannot make room for the positive”. As soon as I let go of the negative, the positive was right there; the positive energy, the positive thought process, the positive people, etc. “Let go and let God” is not just a pretty little phrase. It’s what I did and I’m grateful, soooo grateful for the people God put in my life to help me through such a difficult time. Ok, THEY may not be so grateful, but sacrifices do have to be made in the name of love and friendship! And thank GOD they love me!
I spent some time looking back over some of their wisdom-filled emails they wrote over the last several months and just LMAO! What’s that song…”I can see clearly now the rain is gone…”? It’s like Dah! And really (truly) I’m not bitter… Bitterness leads to Botox people!
Merry Christmas AC, Deb, Laura, Greg, Jacqueline, Kathy, Ron, Dale (AKA Santa), Bill, Bob and yes, even you Richard.
Match.com: 120.00/year
Dinner with an idiot: Free
Letting go: Priceless
Showing posts with label JD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JD. Show all posts
Monday, January 5, 2009
Monday, November 24, 2008
Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…
Monday, 17 November 2008
Sex in the Woods
by Crystal Laramore
Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…
“We’re not over. I love you with all my heart”. I keep hearing the words. The words keep me up at night. But the action (or lack there of), doesn’t back up the words. And that wakes me in the middle of the night. It’s been over a week since he’s called. Three weeks between that phone call and the last. Here’s your sign. The whispered words are fainter with each passing day. Silly girl, tricks are for rabbits.
Anyhoo, my mojo is coming back! Well, my coffee mojo anyway. There for a few weeks I just couldn’t get it right. Every morning I make myself (cuz I can’t afford staff on days the restaurant is closed) a café latte and froth the milk and lately the frothing part of my daily ritual has been off a bit. Well, it’s been flat, actually. No froth. Do you know how devastating no froth in a café latte is? Especially to an already unbalanced individual.
But one day last week I made the perfect cup of coffee, froth and all! The next thought had no real place in my pattern of thoughts…wait, have I had a pattern lately? Yes. Scattered. So, actually the next thought fit right in. It was about a cat my sister hijacked. She didn’t really kidnap it as she does let it go outside but she has definitely hijacked it.
My little sister was going through a divorce and doing the whole “why doesn’t he love me” drama dance, like we doooooo, and she was praying to God to get her mojo back. About that time a black, male cat showed up on her front porch, walked right in her cluttered “I’m newly divorced” condo and made himself right at home. She was a bit taken aback since she not only didn’t like cats, she didn’t like men. And a black cat? What more bad luck could she possibly withstand? Well, there was a collar and a name tag on the black, male cat. His ass was goin home! Until she read the name tag. His name: Drum roll please: MOJO! Seriously. God really does do things to amuse himself. I can see him now sitting on his throne giggling to himself saying “Ya really gotta learn to be more specific people, otherwise…”
Since God was channeling himself through the black, male cat named Mojo, my sister decided she should probably, at the very least, provide food and shelter. Hopefully she never provides clothing. The hijacking part comes from the fact that she bought cat a diamond studded dual bowl set, is dishing up it’s favorite brand of caviar and serving it Evian water. Would YOU go back home? God keeps looking around Heaven asking Peter “Where IS my son”? Wonder where he got off to this week.
Anyway, back to me: I now know why people get together during a time of pain and suffering. When we are hurting we want someone to console us and when it can’t be the one delivering the P&S (pain & suffering) sometimes we turn to who is available/willing. Ooooooh, I just thought of another song to replace the silly love songs: “So if you can’t beeeeeee with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with”. Oh, I digress. My bad. I have a good friend who I do not want to date for reasons far beyond the fact that he is a great man. And being the great man he is, when I called, when I needed him, he came running; even though I was drunk-texting him; even though he knew who I really wanted. Yes, he came over – Even Though - and just held me. Excuse me, I’m getting teary-eyed and need a break. I just put on make-up and hate to waste good product…
…ok, I’m back. Whew. The sadness comes in waves. So, my friend didn’t even have a clue that Richard had put me on hold. I told ya’ll already that I hadn’t let on to my friends and letting go is such a quiet sound. My friend was totally shocked as he has met Richard and thought it was a match made in heaven. Yeah, me too. That’s the funny (gotta laugh or I’ll cry again and again) thing - it is a match made in Heaven. My friend wondered why I hadn’t called him before now. I told it him it wouldn’t have done any good cuz he wouldn’t have been able to understand me. The ugly cry doesn’t lend itself to comprehensible verbiage. He may have understood sign language; maybe we could have played charades: Woman in midst of ugly cry, making loud duck(like) call sounds with nose, coupons for Kleenex with lotion surrounding her, arm reaching toward bottle of Big Ass Shiraz holding empty wine glass…No last night was the perfect time. I was able to clearly state my case and not cry. Oh, I got teary-eyed, but not one tear rolled down my cheek. Moving right along. Isn’t it sad?
Anyway, my friend held me and we talked about the evening at the restaurant. I told him about my new musician and how he had invited someone here to meet me. The man’s name was Richard. My friend said “Hmm. You certainly don’t want to start dating someone with the same name as the one you’re trying to get over”. Wow! I hadn’t even put two and twelve together! So there I was being introduced to another Richard and never even thought of my Richard! Ha! How do ya like that? It’s about time! (And no, I do not want to date anyone else. What I want however seems not to be the issue. But, what I am doing is waiting and hoping and venting.) My friend and I decided I was on the road to recovery! And then, I made another perfect café latte this morning! Fluffy froth and all!
And, I took a shower. I didn’t cry and I didn’t draw hearts with his name in the center. What I did do was discover that if you are really interested in your hygiene there is a lot to do in there! It just takes focus. No time for crying when you are actually shaving your legs, washing AND conditioning your hair, scrubbing the dead skin (there’s a metaphor if you think for a split-second…) off your feet and just generally cleaning your body. I’m not sure I’ve been remembering all of those steps lately. I’ve had other stuff to do in there. Like draw hearts and write “I love Richard” in the fog and cry and beat the wall and scream at the water; then erase the hearts and love notes and step out of the therapy shower without falling down. I fell down once about eight years ago and the only thing I keep thinking through this heart-wrenching betrayal I’m feeling is that I can’t fall down again. I can get weak, I can cry but, I. Can’t. Fall. Down. Must. Not. Fall. Down.
Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…
Sex in the Woods by Crystal Laramore
Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…
“We’re not over. I love you with all my heart”. I keep hearing the words. The words keep me up at night. But the action (or lack there of), doesn’t back up the words. And that wakes me in the middle of the night. It’s been over a week since he’s called. Three weeks between that phone call and the last. Here’s your sign. The whispered words are fainter with each passing day. Silly girl, tricks are for rabbits.
Anyhoo, my mojo is coming back! Well, my coffee mojo anyway. There for a few weeks I just couldn’t get it right. Every morning I make myself (cuz I can’t afford staff on days the restaurant is closed) a café latte and froth the milk and lately the frothing part of my daily ritual has been off a bit. Well, it’s been flat, actually. No froth. Do you know how devastating no froth in a café latte is? Especially to an already unbalanced individual.
But one day last week I made the perfect cup of coffee, froth and all! The next thought had no real place in my pattern of thoughts…wait, have I had a pattern lately? Yes. Scattered. So, actually the next thought fit right in. It was about a cat my sister hijacked. She didn’t really kidnap it as she does let it go outside but she has definitely hijacked it.
My little sister was going through a divorce and doing the whole “why doesn’t he love me” drama dance, like we doooooo, and she was praying to God to get her mojo back. About that time a black, male cat showed up on her front porch, walked right in her cluttered “I’m newly divorced” condo and made himself right at home. She was a bit taken aback since she not only didn’t like cats, she didn’t like men. And a black cat? What more bad luck could she possibly withstand? Well, there was a collar and a name tag on the black, male cat. His ass was goin home! Until she read the name tag. His name: Drum roll please: MOJO! Seriously. God really does do things to amuse himself. I can see him now sitting on his throne giggling to himself saying “Ya really gotta learn to be more specific people, otherwise…”
Since God was channeling himself through the black, male cat named Mojo, my sister decided she should probably, at the very least, provide food and shelter. Hopefully she never provides clothing. The hijacking part comes from the fact that she bought cat a diamond studded dual bowl set, is dishing up it’s favorite brand of caviar and serving it Evian water. Would YOU go back home? God keeps looking around Heaven asking Peter “Where IS my son”? Wonder where he got off to this week.
Anyway, back to me: I now know why people get together during a time of pain and suffering. When we are hurting we want someone to console us and when it can’t be the one delivering the P&S (pain & suffering) sometimes we turn to who is available/willing. Ooooooh, I just thought of another song to replace the silly love songs: “So if you can’t beeeeeee with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with”. Oh, I digress. My bad. I have a good friend who I do not want to date for reasons far beyond the fact that he is a great man. And being the great man he is, when I called, when I needed him, he came running; even though I was drunk-texting him; even though he knew who I really wanted. Yes, he came over – Even Though - and just held me. Excuse me, I’m getting teary-eyed and need a break. I just put on make-up and hate to waste good product…
…ok, I’m back. Whew. The sadness comes in waves. So, my friend didn’t even have a clue that Richard had put me on hold. I told ya’ll already that I hadn’t let on to my friends and letting go is such a quiet sound. My friend was totally shocked as he has met Richard and thought it was a match made in heaven. Yeah, me too. That’s the funny (gotta laugh or I’ll cry again and again) thing - it is a match made in Heaven. My friend wondered why I hadn’t called him before now. I told it him it wouldn’t have done any good cuz he wouldn’t have been able to understand me. The ugly cry doesn’t lend itself to comprehensible verbiage. He may have understood sign language; maybe we could have played charades: Woman in midst of ugly cry, making loud duck(like) call sounds with nose, coupons for Kleenex with lotion surrounding her, arm reaching toward bottle of Big Ass Shiraz holding empty wine glass…No last night was the perfect time. I was able to clearly state my case and not cry. Oh, I got teary-eyed, but not one tear rolled down my cheek. Moving right along. Isn’t it sad?
Anyway, my friend held me and we talked about the evening at the restaurant. I told him about my new musician and how he had invited someone here to meet me. The man’s name was Richard. My friend said “Hmm. You certainly don’t want to start dating someone with the same name as the one you’re trying to get over”. Wow! I hadn’t even put two and two together! So there I was being introduced to another Richard and never even thought of my Richard! Ha! How do ya like that? It’s about time! (And no, I do not want to date anyone else. What I want however seems not to be the issue. What I am doing is waiting and hoping and venting.) My friend and I decided I was on the road to recovery! And then, I made another perfect café latte this morning! Fluffy froth and all!
And, I took a shower. I didn’t cry and I didn’t draw hearts with his name in the center. What I did do was discover that if you are really interested in your hygiene there is a lot to do in there! It just takes focus. No time for crying when you are actually shaving your legs, washing AND conditioning your hair, scrubbing the dead skin (there’s a metaphor if you think for a split-second…) off your feet and just generally cleaning your body. I’m not sure I’ve been remembering all of those steps lately. I’ve had other stuff to do in there. Like draw hearts and write “I love Richard” in the fog and cry and beat the wall and scream at the water; then erase the hearts and love notes and step out of the therapy shower without falling down. I fell down once about eight years ago and the only thing I keep thinking through this heart-wrenching betrayal I’m feeling is that I can’t fall down again. I can get weak, I can cry but, I. Can’t. Fall. Down. Must. Not. Fall. Down.
Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…
“We’re not over. I love you with all my heart”. I keep hearing the words. The words keep me up at night. But the action (or lack there of), doesn’t back up the words. And that wakes me in the middle of the night. It’s been over a week since he’s called. Three weeks between that phone call and the last. Here’s your sign. The whispered words are fainter with each passing day. Silly girl, tricks are for rabbits.
Anyhoo, my mojo is coming back! Well, my coffee mojo anyway. There for a few weeks I just couldn’t get it right. Every morning I make myself (cuz I can’t afford staff on days the restaurant is closed) a café latte and froth the milk and lately the frothing part of my daily ritual has been off a bit. Well, it’s been flat, actually. No froth. Do you know how devastating no froth in a café latte is? Especially to an already unbalanced individual.
But one day last week I made the perfect cup of coffee, froth and all! The next thought had no real place in my pattern of thoughts…wait, have I had a pattern lately? Yes. Scattered. So, actually the next thought fit right in. It was about a cat my sister hijacked. She didn’t really kidnap it as she does let it go outside but she has definitely hijacked it.
My little sister was going through a divorce and doing the whole “why doesn’t he love me” drama dance, like we doooooo, and she was praying to God to get her mojo back. About that time a black, male cat showed up on her front porch, walked right in her cluttered “I’m newly divorced” condo and made himself right at home. She was a bit taken aback since she not only didn’t like cats, she didn’t like men. And a black cat? What more bad luck could she possibly withstand? Well, there was a collar and a name tag on the black, male cat. His ass was goin home! Until she read the name tag. His name: Drum roll please: MOJO! Seriously. God really does do things to amuse himself. I can see him now sitting on his throne giggling to himself saying “Ya really gotta learn to be more specific people, otherwise…”
Since God was channeling himself through the black, male cat named Mojo, my sister decided she should probably, at the very least, provide food and shelter. Hopefully she never provides clothing. The hijacking part comes from the fact that she bought cat a diamond studded dual bowl set, is dishing up it’s favorite brand of caviar and serving it Evian water. Would YOU go back home? God keeps looking around Heaven asking Peter “Where IS my son”? Wonder where he got off to this week.
Anyway, back to me: I now know why people get together during a time of pain and suffering. When we are hurting we want someone to console us and when it can’t be the one delivering the P&S (pain & suffering) sometimes we turn to who is available/willing. Ooooooh, I just thought of another song to replace the silly love songs: “So if you can’t beeeeeee with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with”. Oh, I digress. My bad. I have a good friend who I do not want to date for reasons far beyond the fact that he is a great man. And being the great man he is, when I called, when I needed him, he came running; even though I was drunk-texting him; even though he knew who I really wanted. Yes, he came over – Even Though - and just held me. Excuse me, I’m getting teary-eyed and need a break. I just put on make-up and hate to waste good product…
…ok, I’m back. Whew. The sadness comes in waves. So, my friend didn’t even have a clue that Richard had put me on hold. I told ya’ll already that I hadn’t let on to my friends and letting go is such a quiet sound. My friend was totally shocked as he has met Richard and thought it was a match made in heaven. Yeah, me too. That’s the funny (gotta laugh or I’ll cry again and again) thing - it is a match made in Heaven. My friend wondered why I hadn’t called him before now. I told it him it wouldn’t have done any good cuz he wouldn’t have been able to understand me. The ugly cry doesn’t lend itself to comprehensible verbiage. He may have understood sign language; maybe we could have played charades: Woman in midst of ugly cry, making loud duck(like) call sounds with nose, coupons for Kleenex with lotion surrounding her, arm reaching toward bottle of Big Ass Shiraz holding empty wine glass…No last night was the perfect time. I was able to clearly state my case and not cry. Oh, I got teary-eyed, but not one tear rolled down my cheek. Moving right along. Isn’t it sad?
Anyway, my friend held me and we talked about the evening at the restaurant. I told him about my new musician and how he had invited someone here to meet me. The man’s name was Richard. My friend said “Hmm. You certainly don’t want to start dating someone with the same name as the one you’re trying to get over”. Wow! I hadn’t even put two and two together! So there I was being introduced to another Richard and never even thought of my Richard! Ha! How do ya like that? It’s about time! (And no, I do not want to date anyone else. What I want however seems not to be the issue. What I am doing is waiting and hoping and venting.) My friend and I decided I was on the road to recovery! And then, I made another perfect café latte this morning! Fluffy froth and all!
And, I took a shower. I didn’t cry and I didn’t draw hearts with his name in the center. What I did do was discover that if you are really interested in your hygiene there is a lot to do in there! It just takes focus. No time for crying when you are actually shaving your legs, washing AND conditioning your hair, scrubbing the dead skin (there’s a metaphor if you think for a split-second…) off your feet and just generally cleaning your body. I’m not sure I’ve been remembering all of those steps lately. I’ve had other stuff to do in there. Like draw hearts and write “I love Richard” in the fog and cry and beat the wall and scream at the water; then erase the hearts and love notes and step out of the therapy shower without falling down. I fell down once about eight years ago and the only thing I keep thinking through this heart-wrenching betrayal I’m feeling is that I can’t fall down again. I can get weak, I can cry but, I. Can’t. Fall. Down. Must. Not. Fall. Down.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Dear Richard, Again...
Sex in the Woods
by Crystal Laramore
“Listening to the rhythm of the falling rain, drinking a bottle of Big Ass Shiraz”. Hey it’s my party and I’ll sing the songs however I want to. At least I haven’t gone so far into the Country & Western Vault of sad songs that I’m in the Patsy Cline Crazy section. Oh, I mean the song Crazy. Yes, I’m in the crazy section of life all right.
Listen Hold People, when we’re on hold why can’t we listen to rain & thunder? It’s soooo soothing. Today I was on a different kind of hold-the hospital (NOT the crazy part of the hospital, but next week…) put me on hold. They kept saying “thank you for your patience”. What? I’m not being patient. You “hold people” are in denial. I’m fuming and by the time you answer this phone…
Clearly I’m still on (relationship) hold and still doing crazy things like driving 25 miles to make a deposit at the bank on Veteran’s Day and then driving straight to the post office to check the mail-YES, on the very same national holiday. I bet the bank video made for some pretty good speculation on Wednesday morning. WHO IS this crazy lady looking all over for people or help? Doesn’t she know it’s a national holiday? Hmmm, she does have a crazed look in her eyes. Maybe she’s casing the joint…That was yesterday…
Today, my poor, poor propane guy called me (Wednesday, 12 November). He may never call again. He was calling to give me a quote on a propane heater and started off the conversation with “Hey, I found one for $313. It might just be cheaper to get a big burly man to sleep with you at night and keep you warm”. He followed up his undeniable wit with a lot of laughter. I followed it up with a lot of shoulder-heaving, ugly crying. Sorry, sobbing. He quickly responded with, “But with my discount it would only be $275.00”. I hung up on him.
What does that say? If I cry I can get a $38 discount? If my feelings are being hurt and my heart is aching it actually has a monetary value? Pain is worth something? And men wonder why (some) women can cry at the drop of a hat. Let me know when my crying is worth a Mercedes!
Thursdays we play Texas Hold ’Em. It’s a ritualistic event here. We always have the usual suspects and sometimes a newbie or two. Wonder if Jeff will ever step inside again? If I were him I would be wondering if the environment “in there” is stable. “What if I beat her at poker? She does have a concealed hand-gun license”. Yes, there are lots of scenarios I would be playing in my head if I were him and I had just spoken with me.
Yesterday I thought I was healing cuz I deleted one of his emails. Not one to me directly you understand, cuz that is just crazy man. No, it was one where he hit “reply all”. I just hit delete. Typically I would read his five little words and think how wise he is to get his thought process across in so few words (cuz that impresses me. I’m a little wordy.) and then I would save his profound five little words in “His” file. I looked at “his” file the other day and the day I was put on hold just jumps out at me, like Jason in Friday the 13th. Good thing I’m a saver. That way I know when things were put on hold and I can put a time frame on the holding pattern and hang up one day. You know, when I’m not patient anymore.
Some good news (really, it’s sad news but I’m trying to be a bitch) is that when I wake up now he’s not the first thought on my mind, he’s the second and that’s a start. My friends, male and female alike, laughed a lot at my last article/blog and that made me laugh too. Laughter, like time, is a good healer. But then again, so is beer and tequila. Music on the other hand is a terrible healer unless you like country music. County music and some of the pop music I’ve found (Rehab) have really lifted my spirits and given me lots of ideas in case I cross the line between sanity and wigged out, put on a diaper and drive fifteen hours to see him; yes, without a written/verbal/mental invitation. So...
One of my male friends is going through exactly the same thing and his dilemma, his reason for sleepless nights is the “why” factor. He wants to know why. Heck, I KNOW why and it doesn’t help. He says his imagination is running in circles and I just suggested he not give his imagination a knife! Sometimes your mind is a dangerous place and you shouldn’t go there alone. Take a friend. But take a stable friend. Snicker, as if…
Hopefully I’m not the only friend he has right now cuz if I am he’s up the proverbial creek without a paddle!
Lying. I’ve gotten really good at lying. Emotions are unique and completely unpredictable. I’ll go an entire 21 hours without crying and then one of my customers will tell me about he and his wife’s trip to Brazil and there I go-excusing myself to run to the kitchen and put out a grease-fire. It’s a good explanation for the puffy eyes and red nose when I return. I’ve used allergies and those damn onions as excuses for watery eyes and a red nose as well.
When people walk in the restaurant they always say “How are you, Crystal”? Partly, I would like to think, is b/c my customers and I really care about each other. That is why I lie so much to them. It’s safer for our relationship than the truth. Plus they aren’t really expecting the truth.
Life is so full of surprises that if you aren’t expecting any you can be caught completely unawares. Like when you’re in jail for casing the bank and seem confused. Or when you run out of the house with socks and Crocs and meet the hottest person with teeth ya evah did see in your whole blessed life. And no matter how understanding/patient/loving/yada/yada/yada we people on hold are, being caught completely unawares is a tough place to be. However, my Death by Chocolate Martinis doooo sooth the soul. No, I’m not morbid. I didn’t name them after him. I named them before him. It’s not like I drink them wishing the whole time, right down to the chocolate covered cherry, that he was dead. Nothing like that ya’ll. Why, I love him. (Most of this paragraph should be said with the southern twang of Scarlet O’Hara.) Read it again. It’ll be funnier.
“Have a blessed day. I’ve emailed you a guardian angel”. Are you kidding me? I’m in relationship hell-I’m still in the holding pattern for Pete’s sake. This sweet voice keeps saying “Your call is important to us”…and you people are sending me EMAIL ANGELS? I just want to turn those emails into solid, animate objects and throw them as hard as I can to the freaking, inconsiderate, imbecile who sent it to me. Except the one my friend Sue sent me. Her guardian angel was a hot, tanned, dark, handsome angel wearing nothing but white, feathered wings and a loin cloth. Hello Angel!
“Don’t break the chain or something bad will happen to you”. There’s the “why”! I’m in relationship hell b/c I broke a chain. Crap. I broke a lot of chains. Guess I’ll have to stay away from relationships for a long, long time. Wonder if my friends can take some of my bad karma? Well, that’s what friends are for isn’t it? My favorite definition of friendship is the one I share with my best friend and editor, Deborah Martin: “Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies”. She’s been worried lately that I will test that theory.
Me too.
Richard sent me some flowers for my birthday. They lasted a day. They started drooping and looking sad and then I started drooping and … So, I put them outside in the cold, where my heart is. Yes, I’ve already noted in the previous column that I’m sad and pathetic so I don’t need the lecture. Anyway, I put the droopy, sad roses in his box. What a waste of money. We’d both be better off if he’d just sent Prozac or Kleenex or a case of Big Ass Shiraz. You should all be saying “note to self” right about now.
Speaking of Prozac, therapy comes in many forms. I’ve been building a bigger closet (you know, for all the new clothes I’ve bought), re-arranging furniture and covering my sofa cushions in bright and colorful fabric. Plus, I’m way ahead of schedule on my articles! What I haven’t been doing is paying bills. Oh, I do the payroll but that’s only cuz I want to be alone, I don’t want to work alone. But I don’t care if I can’t make long-distance calls or if Direct TV doesn’t work. I do care about the internet though. What would I do without Spider Solitaire? How would I spend my time if not checking my Inbox every 2.5 seconds, re-reading his love messages? Big Sigh.
by Crystal Laramore
“Listening to the rhythm of the falling rain, drinking a bottle of Big Ass Shiraz”. Hey it’s my party and I’ll sing the songs however I want to. At least I haven’t gone so far into the Country & Western Vault of sad songs that I’m in the Patsy Cline Crazy section. Oh, I mean the song Crazy. Yes, I’m in the crazy section of life all right.
Listen Hold People, when we’re on hold why can’t we listen to rain & thunder? It’s soooo soothing. Today I was on a different kind of hold-the hospital (NOT the crazy part of the hospital, but next week…) put me on hold. They kept saying “thank you for your patience”. What? I’m not being patient. You “hold people” are in denial. I’m fuming and by the time you answer this phone…
Clearly I’m still on (relationship) hold and still doing crazy things like driving 25 miles to make a deposit at the bank on Veteran’s Day and then driving straight to the post office to check the mail-YES, on the very same national holiday. I bet the bank video made for some pretty good speculation on Wednesday morning. WHO IS this crazy lady looking all over for people or help? Doesn’t she know it’s a national holiday? Hmmm, she does have a crazed look in her eyes. Maybe she’s casing the joint…That was yesterday…
Today, my poor, poor propane guy called me (Wednesday, 12 November). He may never call again. He was calling to give me a quote on a propane heater and started off the conversation with “Hey, I found one for $313. It might just be cheaper to get a big burly man to sleep with you at night and keep you warm”. He followed up his undeniable wit with a lot of laughter. I followed it up with a lot of shoulder-heaving, ugly crying. Sorry, sobbing. He quickly responded with, “But with my discount it would only be $275.00”. I hung up on him.
What does that say? If I cry I can get a $38 discount? If my feelings are being hurt and my heart is aching it actually has a monetary value? Pain is worth something? And men wonder why (some) women can cry at the drop of a hat. Let me know when my crying is worth a Mercedes!
Thursdays we play Texas Hold ’Em. It’s a ritualistic event here. We always have the usual suspects and sometimes a newbie or two. Wonder if Jeff will ever step inside again? If I were him I would be wondering if the environment “in there” is stable. “What if I beat her at poker? She does have a concealed hand-gun license”. Yes, there are lots of scenarios I would be playing in my head if I were him and I had just spoken with me.
Yesterday I thought I was healing cuz I deleted one of his emails. Not one to me directly you understand, cuz that is just crazy man. No, it was one where he hit “reply all”. I just hit delete. Typically I would read his five little words and think how wise he is to get his thought process across in so few words (cuz that impresses me. I’m a little wordy.) and then I would save his profound five little words in “His” file. I looked at “his” file the other day and the day I was put on hold just jumps out at me, like Jason in Friday the 13th. Good thing I’m a saver. That way I know when things were put on hold and I can put a time frame on the holding pattern and hang up one day. You know, when I’m not patient anymore.
Some good news (really, it’s sad news but I’m trying to be a bitch) is that when I wake up now he’s not the first thought on my mind, he’s the second and that’s a start. My friends, male and female alike, laughed a lot at my last article/blog and that made me laugh too. Laughter, like time, is a good healer. But then again, so is beer and tequila. Music on the other hand is a terrible healer unless you like country music. County music and some of the pop music I’ve found (Rehab) have really lifted my spirits and given me lots of ideas in case I cross the line between sanity and wigged out, put on a diaper and drive fifteen hours to see him; yes, without a written/verbal/mental invitation. So...
One of my male friends is going through exactly the same thing and his dilemma, his reason for sleepless nights is the “why” factor. He wants to know why. Heck, I KNOW why and it doesn’t help. He says his imagination is running in circles and I just suggested he not give his imagination a knife! Sometimes your mind is a dangerous place and you shouldn’t go there alone. Take a friend. But take a stable friend. Snicker, as if…
Hopefully I’m not the only friend he has right now cuz if I am he’s up the proverbial creek without a paddle!
Lying. I’ve gotten really good at lying. Emotions are unique and completely unpredictable. I’ll go an entire 21 hours without crying and then one of my customers will tell me about he and his wife’s trip to Brazil and there I go-excusing myself to run to the kitchen and put out a grease-fire. It’s a good explanation for the puffy eyes and red nose when I return. I’ve used allergies and those damn onions as excuses for watery eyes and a red nose as well.
When people walk in the restaurant they always say “How are you, Crystal”? Partly, I would like to think, is b/c my customers and I really care about each other. That is why I lie so much to them. It’s safer for our relationship than the truth. Plus they aren’t really expecting the truth.
Life is so full of surprises that if you aren’t expecting any you can be caught completely unawares. Like when you’re in jail for casing the bank and seem confused. Or when you run out of the house with socks and Crocs and meet the hottest person with teeth ya evah did see in your whole blessed life. And no matter how understanding/patient/loving/yada/yada/yada we people on hold are, being caught completely unawares is a tough place to be. However, my Death by Chocolate Martinis doooo sooth the soul. No, I’m not morbid. I didn’t name them after him. I named them before him. It’s not like I drink them wishing the whole time, right down to the chocolate covered cherry, that he was dead. Nothing like that ya’ll. Why, I love him. (Most of this paragraph should be said with the southern twang of Scarlet O’Hara.) Read it again. It’ll be funnier.
“Have a blessed day. I’ve emailed you a guardian angel”. Are you kidding me? I’m in relationship hell-I’m still in the holding pattern for Pete’s sake. This sweet voice keeps saying “Your call is important to us”…and you people are sending me EMAIL ANGELS? I just want to turn those emails into solid, animate objects and throw them as hard as I can to the freaking, inconsiderate, imbecile who sent it to me. Except the one my friend Sue sent me. Her guardian angel was a hot, tanned, dark, handsome angel wearing nothing but white, feathered wings and a loin cloth. Hello Angel!
“Don’t break the chain or something bad will happen to you”. There’s the “why”! I’m in relationship hell b/c I broke a chain. Crap. I broke a lot of chains. Guess I’ll have to stay away from relationships for a long, long time. Wonder if my friends can take some of my bad karma? Well, that’s what friends are for isn’t it? My favorite definition of friendship is the one I share with my best friend and editor, Deborah Martin: “Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies”. She’s been worried lately that I will test that theory.
Me too.
Richard sent me some flowers for my birthday. They lasted a day. They started drooping and looking sad and then I started drooping and … So, I put them outside in the cold, where my heart is. Yes, I’ve already noted in the previous column that I’m sad and pathetic so I don’t need the lecture. Anyway, I put the droopy, sad roses in his box. What a waste of money. We’d both be better off if he’d just sent Prozac or Kleenex or a case of Big Ass Shiraz. You should all be saying “note to self” right about now.
Speaking of Prozac, therapy comes in many forms. I’ve been building a bigger closet (you know, for all the new clothes I’ve bought), re-arranging furniture and covering my sofa cushions in bright and colorful fabric. Plus, I’m way ahead of schedule on my articles! What I haven’t been doing is paying bills. Oh, I do the payroll but that’s only cuz I want to be alone, I don’t want to work alone. But I don’t care if I can’t make long-distance calls or if Direct TV doesn’t work. I do care about the internet though. What would I do without Spider Solitaire? How would I spend my time if not checking my Inbox every 2.5 seconds, re-reading his love messages? Big Sigh.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Dear Richard (the name has been changed to entertain me)
Sex in the Woods
By Crystal Laramore
Edited by Deborah Martin (the “Cliff” chick-as in been there done that)
Dear Richard (the name has been changed to entertain me)
(The views and opinions in this article do not necessarily reflect the true feelings of the woman writing this article when she’s not sad/hormonal/drunk/angry/confused/generally pissed-off/drunk/sad…)
Well, I’m here. Where we all have been and never want to go again. Near death. Or, its close cousin, the death of a relationship. It’s a sad place to be and a funny place all at the same time. It’s that place we all promise ourselves we’ll never visit again. We love, we lose, we move on but we’ll never go there again. It’s a dark place and sometimes all the lights go out at once. And there is no power to bring the lights on again. Not even a generator.
When you know it’s over but you’re still holding on by your chewed up fingernails you find yourself doing really silly things. For instance, I’m reading books like Why Men Love Bitches as if turning into a bitch will make him love me enough to not let go??? Actually…And it’s distant cousin Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair. Well, we’re not getting a divorce and I have no cats, but two outta three ain’t bad! Didja get that?
I also call my two best friends (one is my aunt) and my sister ALL the time. Or else I would be calling him and according to the Bitch book…I did have to delete his number to accomplish that feat though. I also deleted his email address but some people don’t know we’re letting go (it’s a very quiet sound) so I keep getting his email address on my computer screen in bright blue letters-it’s like a flashing neon sign saying “Hey, remember me-I’m the guy breaking your heart”. It’s like pay it forward only different. LOL! Plus he sent me a txt msg. 4 my bday. Anyway, my poor friends, at this point, want us to reconcile more than I do I think. For their sanity, ya’ll understand.
They’re dodging what Oprah calls the ugly cry. But just like in dodge ball you just never know which me is going to be on the other end of the phone. I can see them now looking at the caller ID, seeing my name and praying to God that I’m having an “I’m a bitch day” instead of the “but he said ‘blah, blah, blah’” and “but I love him soooooo (this is where I am completely un-comprehensible and my shoulders are heaving up and down) much”. There are other pitiful phrases that I’m sure I use over and over but I’m trying to get my pathetic self off hold so I’m trying the amnesia theory; if I could just quit remembering what I’m trying to forget. That memory is a great enemy sometimes; especially when all you have are good ones-really, really good ones. You get one out of the way and your brain goes “But wait, there’s more”.
That whole remembering thing is dicey. It’s nice to have good memories to share with someone but when you become a solo act instead of a duo…it’s just not as much fun to share the memories with yourself of the first time we walked hand-in-hand, the time he caught more fish than I did but I caught the biggest one. Or to remember what you are going to do in the future. Like walk in the rain together…go on an adventure vacation, blah, blah, blah. No, these memories are not fun to share with the sofa and the box of Kleenex, not even with a whole bottle of Big Ass Shiraz all to yourself!
I’ve also turned from listening to love songs like James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend” (a song he pointed out in the car and wanted me to listen to on a rainy, romantic evening) to songs that drip beautiful sentiments like “I took my key and scratched the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive and carved my name into his leather seats…” and I don’t even listen to country music. There are other songs about revenge too like that one about all those chick’s personalities; I think there was an El Camino and a key in that song too. Wonder if he parks in the garage? Wonder if he has security cameras? Just kidding. Snicker, snicker.
There are moments during this twilight zone that I do find entertaining. Like when really young men are flirting with me. Sometimes I need reading glasses but even the 250’s (which I don’t need) couldn’t change that 8 (as in 1982) to a 6 (as in I wish he was born in 1962…). I must have “I’m vulnerable and lonely and I’ve been duped errr (really, I’m not bitter) I mean dumped” on my wise-beyond-my-years forehead? Or is it “I’m much older than you and I have a house and my own business (oh yeah, that has a bar - duh!) and money and I can buy you an X-Box for Christmas”? But the good news is there are other single people out there and some even have teeth.
And then there are moments in this twilight zone I’m so angry I want to shoot out his knee. But I’m not so angry I want to shoot out his good knee. Shooting out an already bad knee just doesn’t seem so self-serving. Actually, I posed this theory to my UB and he never emailed me back. I guess it’s best to not have electronic proof of a conspiracy.
Less aggressively, I’ve deleted his picture from all the computer screens and the bberry screen. I’ve taken his framed love notes off the wall and I’ve started going to bars where people are. That’s a good thing cuz I just cried for the first three weeks and people were annoying cuz I couldn’t cry when the people were around. Even though I own my own business and the people meant money, I just didn’t want to see the people.
I also made note of time - a lot. Oh, it’s been exactly one, two, three weeks since he’s called. The last time was 8:11 on Wednesday. Not as bad as 9/11 but ... There are other things I’ve done that are more therapeutic than crying and noting historical moments in time, like when I packed up all his “stuff” in a box, taping it shut and addressing it. There are other things I haven’t done, like have the guts to actually put some postage on it and send it to his mother. Just kidding. Besides, he bought me these really great biking shorts with a padded butt and if I send the box back…selfish I know. It’s one of the side-affects. Ya’ll understand.
Which brings me to the part where I’m not working out (riding my bike) every day cuz those damn shorts are in that damn box. And the songs on the Ipod I listen to are, you guessed it, freaking love songs. There have to be 827 songs I’ll never be able to listen to again if we actually really break up, all the way, forever and ever, if he actually says the words.
Everything is just on hold. Have you been on hold lately? It’s infuriating. Like, I’ve got better things to do than just sit on hold. YES YOU DO! So why don’t we just hang up? Why do we sit on hold with people who try harder to hold on to bad relationships than they do to hold on to loving, committed (hey, there is a fine line between committed and commitment) ones? Because there is that promise that someone, a live and caring person will eventually answer our call. They even come on the line from time to time and promise someone will be right with you. Kinda like Richard is doing to me.
And people (men and women), when you want to break up with someone let me tell you what NOT to say: I have to give you back your heart. What? How? When? Where? Why? All the unanswered questions keep me up at night. It’s 1:24 a.m. right now and here I am writing to strangers…hmmmm. And if we give our heart to you it’s sorta impossible to give it back. Now, when we’ve had enough of being in the perpetual holding pattern, we may take it back, but you can’t just give someone back their feelings-just like that.
You’d think at our stage in the game we’d make better decisions regarding love, but maybe that’s where the lesson comes in. We can’t make people follow through with their assurances and the pledges of love so we must learn to treasure the moments we have while we have them. It’s that whole living in the moment thing.
Life is short and the older you get the shorter it gets. That’s another thing I’ve been doing, coming up with really profound and utterly stupid statements. I practice saying them to him when he calls but mostly I forget how to speak. I know how to write well and I’ve tried to write him a letter but its soooooooooooooooooooo long that I think he would lose interest around page 96. So, I’ve been keeping a journal. Ha! Take that! And that too! It’s a pretty safe place to vent unless you die and your parents get a hold of it. Then THEY may shoot out both of his knees. This medium is also a safe outlet since I quit sending him my articles. The bitch book says he doesn’t deserve to hear from me. Look people, it’s cheaper and more entertaining than therapy!
Not that he did anything wrong or I did anything wrong. It’s just the timing. He has some personal issues that he didn’t foresee and now that life is too stressful I’m the easiest thing to let go of. I understand. Really I do. I can understand how a woman a thousand miles away is stressful. How someone who doesn’t need a thing, like a boob-job or mortgage payments or every spare second of your time is stressful. And the good news is that I’m taking it all in stride and not becoming bitter.
Seriously folks, there are no answers. There are just questions sometimes. And as my sister says “Sometimes there aren’t enough band-aids”. The hard part for all of us is the part where we miss our best friend. We miss the laughter and the banter and the last call or the last text (and if his DOB has an 8 as the 3rd number, you need to learn how to txt!) of the evening. And when you have such a good thing as we do/did, with never any fights and a lot of love, the pain is deep and the loss is sad. But there is always hope.
Time is a wonderful thing. We’ll either all move on or we’ll re-connect. Life is often defined in stages: Birth, Life, Death; a straight line. But as Will Smith said on Oprah (Are you KIDDING me? You don’t watch Oprah when you are depressed?) if you define life as Birth, Life, Death, Re-birth then, you have a whole new outlook. Just take the ends, bend the line, connect the ends and start all over.
By Crystal Laramore
Edited by Deborah Martin (the “Cliff” chick-as in been there done that)
Dear Richard (the name has been changed to entertain me)
(The views and opinions in this article do not necessarily reflect the true feelings of the woman writing this article when she’s not sad/hormonal/drunk/angry/confused/generally pissed-off/drunk/sad…)
Well, I’m here. Where we all have been and never want to go again. Near death. Or, its close cousin, the death of a relationship. It’s a sad place to be and a funny place all at the same time. It’s that place we all promise ourselves we’ll never visit again. We love, we lose, we move on but we’ll never go there again. It’s a dark place and sometimes all the lights go out at once. And there is no power to bring the lights on again. Not even a generator.
When you know it’s over but you’re still holding on by your chewed up fingernails you find yourself doing really silly things. For instance, I’m reading books like Why Men Love Bitches as if turning into a bitch will make him love me enough to not let go??? Actually…And it’s distant cousin Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair. Well, we’re not getting a divorce and I have no cats, but two outta three ain’t bad! Didja get that?
I also call my two best friends (one is my aunt) and my sister ALL the time. Or else I would be calling him and according to the Bitch book…I did have to delete his number to accomplish that feat though. I also deleted his email address but some people don’t know we’re letting go (it’s a very quiet sound) so I keep getting his email address on my computer screen in bright blue letters-it’s like a flashing neon sign saying “Hey, remember me-I’m the guy breaking your heart”. It’s like pay it forward only different. LOL! Plus he sent me a txt msg. 4 my bday. Anyway, my poor friends, at this point, want us to reconcile more than I do I think. For their sanity, ya’ll understand.
They’re dodging what Oprah calls the ugly cry. But just like in dodge ball you just never know which me is going to be on the other end of the phone. I can see them now looking at the caller ID, seeing my name and praying to God that I’m having an “I’m a bitch day” instead of the “but he said ‘blah, blah, blah’” and “but I love him soooooo (this is where I am completely un-comprehensible and my shoulders are heaving up and down) much”. There are other pitiful phrases that I’m sure I use over and over but I’m trying to get my pathetic self off hold so I’m trying the amnesia theory; if I could just quit remembering what I’m trying to forget. That memory is a great enemy sometimes; especially when all you have are good ones-really, really good ones. You get one out of the way and your brain goes “But wait, there’s more”.
That whole remembering thing is dicey. It’s nice to have good memories to share with someone but when you become a solo act instead of a duo…it’s just not as much fun to share the memories with yourself of the first time we walked hand-in-hand, the time he caught more fish than I did but I caught the biggest one. Or to remember what you are going to do in the future. Like walk in the rain together…go on an adventure vacation, blah, blah, blah. No, these memories are not fun to share with the sofa and the box of Kleenex, not even with a whole bottle of Big Ass Shiraz all to yourself!
I’ve also turned from listening to love songs like James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend” (a song he pointed out in the car and wanted me to listen to on a rainy, romantic evening) to songs that drip beautiful sentiments like “I took my key and scratched the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive and carved my name into his leather seats…” and I don’t even listen to country music. There are other songs about revenge too like that one about all those chick’s personalities; I think there was an El Camino and a key in that song too. Wonder if he parks in the garage? Wonder if he has security cameras? Just kidding. Snicker, snicker.
There are moments during this twilight zone that I do find entertaining. Like when really young men are flirting with me. Sometimes I need reading glasses but even the 250’s (which I don’t need) couldn’t change that 8 (as in 1982) to a 6 (as in I wish he was born in 1962…). I must have “I’m vulnerable and lonely and I’ve been duped errr (really, I’m not bitter) I mean dumped” on my wise-beyond-my-years forehead? Or is it “I’m much older than you and I have a house and my own business (oh yeah, that has a bar - duh!) and money and I can buy you an X-Box for Christmas”? But the good news is there are other single people out there and some even have teeth.
And then there are moments in this twilight zone I’m so angry I want to shoot out his knee. But I’m not so angry I want to shoot out his good knee. Shooting out an already bad knee just doesn’t seem so self-serving. Actually, I posed this theory to my UB and he never emailed me back. I guess it’s best to not have electronic proof of a conspiracy.
Less aggressively, I’ve deleted his picture from all the computer screens and the bberry screen. I’ve taken his framed love notes off the wall and I’ve started going to bars where people are. That’s a good thing cuz I just cried for the first three weeks and people were annoying cuz I couldn’t cry when the people were around. Even though I own my own business and the people meant money, I just didn’t want to see the people.
I also made note of time - a lot. Oh, it’s been exactly one, two, three weeks since he’s called. The last time was 8:11 on Wednesday. Not as bad as 9/11 but ... There are other things I’ve done that are more therapeutic than crying and noting historical moments in time, like when I packed up all his “stuff” in a box, taping it shut and addressing it. There are other things I haven’t done, like have the guts to actually put some postage on it and send it to his mother. Just kidding. Besides, he bought me these really great biking shorts with a padded butt and if I send the box back…selfish I know. It’s one of the side-affects. Ya’ll understand.
Which brings me to the part where I’m not working out (riding my bike) every day cuz those damn shorts are in that damn box. And the songs on the Ipod I listen to are, you guessed it, freaking love songs. There have to be 827 songs I’ll never be able to listen to again if we actually really break up, all the way, forever and ever, if he actually says the words.
Everything is just on hold. Have you been on hold lately? It’s infuriating. Like, I’ve got better things to do than just sit on hold. YES YOU DO! So why don’t we just hang up? Why do we sit on hold with people who try harder to hold on to bad relationships than they do to hold on to loving, committed (hey, there is a fine line between committed and commitment) ones? Because there is that promise that someone, a live and caring person will eventually answer our call. They even come on the line from time to time and promise someone will be right with you. Kinda like Richard is doing to me.
And people (men and women), when you want to break up with someone let me tell you what NOT to say: I have to give you back your heart. What? How? When? Where? Why? All the unanswered questions keep me up at night. It’s 1:24 a.m. right now and here I am writing to strangers…hmmmm. And if we give our heart to you it’s sorta impossible to give it back. Now, when we’ve had enough of being in the perpetual holding pattern, we may take it back, but you can’t just give someone back their feelings-just like that.
You’d think at our stage in the game we’d make better decisions regarding love, but maybe that’s where the lesson comes in. We can’t make people follow through with their assurances and the pledges of love so we must learn to treasure the moments we have while we have them. It’s that whole living in the moment thing.
Life is short and the older you get the shorter it gets. That’s another thing I’ve been doing, coming up with really profound and utterly stupid statements. I practice saying them to him when he calls but mostly I forget how to speak. I know how to write well and I’ve tried to write him a letter but its soooooooooooooooooooo long that I think he would lose interest around page 96. So, I’ve been keeping a journal. Ha! Take that! And that too! It’s a pretty safe place to vent unless you die and your parents get a hold of it. Then THEY may shoot out both of his knees. This medium is also a safe outlet since I quit sending him my articles. The bitch book says he doesn’t deserve to hear from me. Look people, it’s cheaper and more entertaining than therapy!
Not that he did anything wrong or I did anything wrong. It’s just the timing. He has some personal issues that he didn’t foresee and now that life is too stressful I’m the easiest thing to let go of. I understand. Really I do. I can understand how a woman a thousand miles away is stressful. How someone who doesn’t need a thing, like a boob-job or mortgage payments or every spare second of your time is stressful. And the good news is that I’m taking it all in stride and not becoming bitter.
Seriously folks, there are no answers. There are just questions sometimes. And as my sister says “Sometimes there aren’t enough band-aids”. The hard part for all of us is the part where we miss our best friend. We miss the laughter and the banter and the last call or the last text (and if his DOB has an 8 as the 3rd number, you need to learn how to txt!) of the evening. And when you have such a good thing as we do/did, with never any fights and a lot of love, the pain is deep and the loss is sad. But there is always hope.
Time is a wonderful thing. We’ll either all move on or we’ll re-connect. Life is often defined in stages: Birth, Life, Death; a straight line. But as Will Smith said on Oprah (Are you KIDDING me? You don’t watch Oprah when you are depressed?) if you define life as Birth, Life, Death, Re-birth then, you have a whole new outlook. Just take the ends, bend the line, connect the ends and start all over.
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