1. Just because you fucked him, does not mean that you and I will become friends. For that matter, just because we met once does not mean I want anything else to do with you.

2. Just because you and I are both chicks, does not mean I will abide by some “girl code” and put in a good word in for you. Frankly, the man comes to the East coast for one week a year and you seem to have deluded yourself into thinking that sex=relationship.

3. You’re an idiot.

4. Tagging me in some cockamamie bullshit on Facebook will only make me want to punch you in the ovary.

Example:

5. Refrain from asking me personal questions about his tastes, likes, dislikes, ways of thought, ways of acting…or ANYthing about him. If he doesn’t want to tell you, why the hell would I?

6. I repeat: do not, do not, do not, DO NOT ask me to talk to my brother on your behalf. Fuck you and that stupid high horse you rode in on.

7. Don’t dawdle. I don’t want to see your face the next morning. Frankly, I may puke on it from you making my poor ears BLEED the night before. Learn to be quiet, K? Or, I don’t know, GET A FUCKING ROOM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

8. Don’t piss me off. Blood is thicker than water and he won’t take too kindly to that.

Better yet, I’ll just let him do the “talkin’” for me.

…’nuff said.

And it fucking sucks.

I’m trying to work towards my dream. I want to make my future brighter and  financially stable and to do so requires further education. This, of course, requires money.

Therein lies the issue.

My credit is in shambles and I’ve deferred my previous student loans more often then I’ve paid money towards them.

I want this so badly I can almost taste it. When I sat in the office of admissions last Friday, I almost drooled over my paper work from the mere excitement. And then I went on a journey of hunting for scholarships. And then I ordered my transcripts. And THEN I went back through said transcripts to remind myself of how I did during undergrad.

Let me tell you, it. was. bad. It was so bad that I became embarrassed all over again and am carrying the shame like a wet blanket.

While there were many extenuating circumstances for my grades being so piss poor, least of which were my academic abilities, I just can’t help but feel … stupid.

I am scared to death that I am biting off more than I can chew and that I will do just as bad as I did before.

I’m afraid of failure.

And it is suffocating.

It’s funny how wide spread us bloggers really are, ain’t it?

When I first began writing in this particular forum (aka the blogosphere), she was one of the few whose blogs I read. Even though we’re thousands of miles apart, I feel a kinship with her, as I do with many of you.

When I heard that someone she cares for deeply was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, my heart broke for her.

So, it is with absolute great pleasure that I present you with the following video. It is the brainchild of Maxie & Lilu that morphed into a project wide arching and blog approved. It’s not a cure, but I hope that it brings Brandy a big smile.

Brandy, I can’t give you real hugs so here’s to the next best thing (I’m e-toasting you with an e-beer. One day we shall really toast with a real beer. One day!)

***
Lilu, thank you for slaving over the video footage for hours and scrapping this together.

To all those in the video, thank you too. Because sometimes it’s just nice to do something nice.

If you’d like to help or get more information on Multiple Myeloma, please visit loveharder.org

The thing is, our parents are often pretty good at making valid points. Something the majority of us didn’t even want to comprehend as teens. So it’s nice that we’re smarter and wiser and all that shit.

But that doesnt mean there aren’t ever any arguments. And what really boils my bubble in my particular situation is that I can clearly see when The Parent is just antagonizing a situation, instead of speaking civilly.

I imagine that the last 30ish years have steeled her to be more abrasive than necessary. But the thing is, I’m pretty much the only one left anymore. So picking fights with me is just asinine. And I hate, hate, hate it.

More importantly, how does one sit down and have a civil conversation with The Parent about how uncivil it is to just fly off the rocker?  I get that I’m the “kid” in this situation but that doesn’t automatically equate to me being wrong too.

I’m no teenager. And to an extent I can see how it’s difficult for her to let go of that mentality. But for fuck’s sake, I wish she’d calm the hell down.

I just wanted to say thanks. Without your determination and sheer will, the civil rights movement couldn’t have been the same. It’s people like you that paved the road for people like me to lead a fulfilling life. Frankly, if it weren’t for the movement, I may never have been born. 14 years before my birth it was still illegal for interracial couples to get married in my state. And, well, I’m a product of an interracial marriage.

Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be long. I just wanted to say thank you. And wish you a very happy birthday.

It’s a noble idea, really, but the question is: will it work?

Better yet, how much more money are we going to lose by doing this? Because let’s face it, we sure do like to fuck up some legislation.

The thing is, I feel pretty versed on the 2,000+ page document given that I’ve been releasing work-related updates on it at every turn.

It goes without saying that we need to overhaul health care. Insurance companies have become such greedy dick nuggets that WAY too many of us are getting inadequate health care or none at all. Don’t even get me started on the lives that have been ruined from outrageous hospital bills.

And frankly? It’s just a little ridiculous that the U.S. population has a lower life expectancy than other countries just because we can’t get our shit together. America needs to do a better job of taking care of the people living within its borders. And by that, I don’t mean the government should be hand-holding every citizen, but it shouldn’t forget that those are the folks bleeding tax dollars back into the land. Actually, don’t even get me started on taxes…

With that said, I do not want another damn “hand out.” I don’t want a quick band-aid to sort’ve make things look like they might help. It’s freaking me the hell out that we’re still just throwing away money at a rate that is so vast that I can’t even begin to conceptualize it.

Stuff like this always begins with the noblest of intentions and then we have to deal with several years of bullshit while all the details are properly ironed out. That’s not a reason to hesitate with reforming a system that’s in desperate need of a facelift. It is, however, something we should be paying a little more attention to given our economic environment.

So, here’s three cheers to decent health care reform. Let’s hope the government doesn’t fuck it up.

Have you ever taken a moment to look back at what you wrote in your blog, journal or diary?

Talk about some interesting shit.

There were a few times where I audibly cringed or laughed out loud, and an occasion or two where I was so quick to hit the delete button I damn near bruised my index finger.

Ok, not really.

But sort of.

With the new year having arrived (entirely too quickly, if you ask me), it’s pretty natural that I did a whole lot of self reflection. I mentioned this recently, but the fact that my birthday is right before the new year makes the process an annual staple.

It’s no big secret that I practically vanished from the blogosphere. I quit this thing, resurrected it, walked away again, quit my twitter, resurrected a new one and just recently re-opened my Deutlich twitter account.

I know, the majority of us enjoy a good roller coaster ride here and again, but GOOD GRIEF! This was way too fucking  much. I just hope that I haven’t completely severed every single bloggy relationship I’d established. When the main forum for communication is the interwebs and I just avoid everything interweb related, I imagine that doesn’t quite help matters…

Speaking of, I don’t know what the hell’s been going on with y’all and I’m sorry for that. But I do hope to find out.

For what it’s worth, the last six months have been pretty damn great. There’s been way less stress, and much more learning,  working and planning for the future. I thought I’d hate 28, but so far I’ve just really felt very serene about it. I actually feel older, for once. And I’m okay with that, for once.

I’ve re-designed my blog but will probably fuck up the process of installing it like no other. Hopefully, it won’t be as painful as I’m imagining it to be.

Not likely. But a girl can dream, right? Right.

Happy New Year, y’all.

I missed you.

28!!

In 5 days.

I’m supposed to be jumping for joy and planning crazy celebratory drinkfests but I’ve barely been able to acknowledge the day, let alone make any plans for it.

It’s been a humbling year and I can’t see any reason to go balls-out about inching so close to 30. What the hell is wrong with turning 30 anyway?! I (thought I) was ready! I used to scoff at folks freaking out about their 30th. SCOFF!

But here I am. Two years away and already wigging out. Something about this age-range makes me feel so unready for everything. It’s like, all of the life lessons learned so far actually make sense, yet they don’t make me feel particularly “wiser.”

Ugh.

At this point I’m just ready for the new year, to wipe the slate clean and to move forward.

Speaking of, did I ever mention that Cris briefly popped back up in my life? You know — “HazelEyes?” (Side note: please somebody stab me if I ever decide to give people ridiculous fucking nicknames again.) For those who are uninitiated, he was the man I pined over for something like a decade. Given the fact that we are not together, you can probably surmise that dramatics ensued. And as much as I should run away — not walk — from anything to do with that man, I’m glad he re-appeared. Because I finally got the truth from his own mouth and then I legitimately let it all go.

Closure?

I like it.

Oh, and the woman responsible for the horrendous rumor mill that began in the 8th grade? The same rumor mill that led me to eat under school stairwells for three years, instead of the cafeteria, for fear of running into bullies? The same one that caused my pretty severe social anxiety?

Well, she sent me an apology through Facebook. The fact that I didn’t recognize the name as soon as I read it means that a) I’ve moved on and b) I’ve done it well. Moreover, the fact that she was apologizing, 15 years after the fact, means that it wasn’t just all in my head. That it wasn’t me just overreacting or being snively or weak. I’ve long ago forgiven her but I’ve always worried that the severity of the situation was more imaginary than real. And now I know.

I’ve yet to respond,  since I just don’t know what to say. But the apology meant more to me than I thought it would. Even 15 years later.

These are two of the most noteworthy things to happen in my personal life this year. The rest? I just don’t care to get into.

I think I’ll continue to reflect on things quietly. Just the way I like it.

It’s been a year and a half since I professed my feelings to him. Through email. Because he lives six states north of here.

And I still think of him. Far too often.

It’s a complete mix of feelings. The twinge of deep regret. The relentless embarrassment. The entirely too strong desire.

Some days my cheeks turn a bright shade of pink for being so foolish. Other days my lungs fill with rage over being misled.

Either way, I still think of him.

It’d been a long, long time since my interest was peaked so ferociously. He was sparkly and witty and kind and funny and beautiful. He was flawed and insensitive and selfish and sometimes petty.

He was intriguing and could sing and strum the guitar. Attributes I’ve always found intoxicating.

Perhaps I was blinded by rose-colored glasses. Maybe I’d come to know him too well. Or maybe I’d come to know him far too little.

But I wanted him more than I’d wanted anything.

And I still think of him.

Only later in the day did it cross my mind how silly it seemed. And just as quickly as that thought came to mind, I decided I didn’t much care. I love me some Kevin and John. So there.

Besides. Twitter is an odd beast. It’s a place to brag about accomplishments, share late-breaking news, start “campaigns,” bitch about coworkers and generally give way too much information out with a few strokes of the keyboard – or cell phone.

So anyway. The reason for tweeting @KevinRichardson was pretty simple. I dreamed about him. Well, him and the rest of the Backstreet Boys. And while the majority of you know how BIG of a BSB fan I am, I can attest to the fact that dreaming about them is rare. And kind of odd. Like stalkerish without the actual stalking. Either way, there was a huge concert in Boston. Kevin was there. Lil’ Wayne was there. T-Pain was there. Rihanna was there. It was like their fame from the 90s came back in full swing and all of a sudden they were hosting this ridiculous show. In Boston.

I know. I don’t get it either.

When I eventually woke up, it was to a phone filled with tweets from Kevin, who had been posting pictures of his roadtrip through the West.

I sense some irony.

With @JohnCMayer it was even simpler. I got wind of Battle Studies, his new album that drops next week. And since getting my grubby fingers on it, I’ve done nothing but listen to it obsessively. I even went looking for the best deals for purchasing it on vinyl. Luckily, those were easily found. Sadly, it won’t be available until December 1st. But since I’ve only just begun collecting vinyl and I don’t even have a record player yet, I suppose that’s quite all right. Don’t bother asking me why I have vinyl without any way to listen to it. In my head it works.

So, I leave you with “Crossroads,” a track off of Battle Studies. If you like music with a strong emphasis on instruments, do yourselves a favor and buy the album when it hits stores next week. Everything sounds best on vinyl & cd. Although digital works well for MP3 players, the quality of sound just isn’t the same.