a new partner

One month.  One whole month!  Since I wrote a blog, that is.  As I wrote that, I realized I actually posted one April 21st, but since I don't delete the stream of thoughts pouring out of my noggin I'll let you all see how big of a retard I really am.  Anywho.  So one month ago I got rid of Bethel (refer to that blog... two blogs ago) and couldn't of course NOT have a car to replace her.  After all, how would I get around?  That was the whole issue with her reliability (re: lack of) so I needed to choose well.  And choose well I did.  I'll let Matthew Broderick explain quickly before I dive in to this short(er(ish)) blog.

So there you have it, the all new 2012 Honda Cr-V.  And, would ya look at that, a new addition to my list of 26 Golden Things.  But that title won't come until the end, and don't you dare fucking look ahead.

The commercial aired during the Super Bowl this year and caught my attention, mostly because of him representing himself as Ferris Bueller.  I remember going to see James Bond: Casino Royal in 2006 with @MarkStyleMe and our friend Dustin for guys night, and before the movie started the pre-show had a commercial for the (back then) all new 2007 Cr-V.  The slogan came from having Cr-V transform into Crave.  Back then I thought "that's a pretty cool car," and the commercial stuck with me because everytime I saw one, I thought of it.  Oh hey, wait... I found the commercial.  I'LL POST IT!

Okay, I'll start taking this seriously now.  I had only ever test-driven cars, not SUV's.  I figured I drove the Jeep and had a good time, but I wanted something that was fuel efficient and sporty.  That was always kind of the search criteria.  I won't bore you with the years that passed between then and now, as you already know they were uneventful with Bethel.  Then came April 2012 and the hunt was on again.

I actually only test drove a couple cars.  The Kia Forte (boo,) the Kia Sportage (meh,) and the Honda Cr-V (ding-a-ling!)  I drove the lower end model of the Cr-V, the LX, and fell in love with it.  I was going to wait a bit before jumping in and buying but that didn't last long.  I test drove them all on a Friday and was driving one home eight days later the following Saturday (@klreynol came with on purchase day.)  The guy at the dealership in Appleton was nice but vague, and didn't really walk us through anything.  @MarkStyleMe and I had a good time lying to the folks we drove around with that day, portraying him as a different person each time.  It's just what we do.  With Kia he was a substitute math teacher in North Carolina, and with Honda his name was... Steve?  I can't remember, but the dealership guy didn't drive around with us so that personality never got a chance to shine like it did with Jody at Kia.

I started e-mailing the area Honda dealerships that week, pitting them against each other in a showdown to the DEATH!  Not really, but I did send annoying e-mails trying to haggle the price down on the EX (mid-line model,) because it had a bunch of features the LX was lacking.  Namely the sunroof.  I mean, hello!?  If I'm buying a brand new car I want to at least enjoy it for the 10+ years I'm probably going to be driving it into the ground!  Eventually I ended up with Bergstrom in Oshkosh and a really great guy named Matt (heyo!) who was fantastic to work with.  I went down for a test drive of the model I'd be buying, fell head over heels in love with it, and let him do the rest.  It was only after I left that first day that I realized the divine nature of why I was seemingly drawn to this car.  Let me explain something.

You all know I am cataloging a list of 26 new things to do this year; I squeal about it plenty.  The funny thing about the 2012 Cr-V?  Seeing as this is a leap year, Honda made a wonderful little tie-in called the Leap-List.  And wouldn't you know it, the entire purpose of the Cr-V is to start living your life in a way you hadn't before, by experiencing things you never have before.  And there is something wonderfully serendipitous about that.  (You can check it out for yourself here: http://automobiles.honda.com/leap-list/dashboard/)  I had already made the move to buy the car, so it wasn't like this made me leap (no pun intended) into it because I already had.  But I did think it was funny that I should be drawn to a vehicle during my year of changes, only to find it represents that in and of itself without my influence.  What are the odds?

So I drove her off the lot with a great deal, a great interest rate, and a great experience.  Her color was Urban Titanium, her guts were black, and then it struck me: this gal doesn't have a name!  I was searching my large cranium for a few days before I took the plunge, tossing around names to see which rolled off my tongue better.  I figured Bethel was a great car for a long time, so I might as well stick with the B's.  The rest is history.  Or will be, as it were.

# 8 - A New Partner; ladies and germs, meet Bernice.

Good night readers; see ya on the road!

feeling quite... quiet.

I like to consider myself a champion for change; it is in the back of my mind on a daily basis that nothing ever really stays the same for long.  Change is a central theme in my books, all three of them..  When approached for advice I even preach about it to others.  I think of change as this constant, primal force that cannot REALLY be tamed, nor can it be understood.  That's why I'm always surprised when it kind of rears up and slaps me in the face.

This isn't going to be one of my longer blogs, because in fact I don't have that much to say.  I'm kind of sad right now.  Not for reasons that are directly influenced by other people, it is mostly because of me.  I handle change in a pretty good way, always learning from and then adapting to it.  It's a pretty healthy occurrence because it keeps me sane.  I will admit however that at times, too much change can feel like a bad thing.

In the last two weeks a lot has been changing for me; financial situations, buying a new car, whatever-the-hell is going on in my love life (still not much,) happiness/annoyance with work, etc.  I had been looking forward to the end of April because it was going to bring some fairly massive changes for me.  And not changes in a bad way, but more of a "set me free" way.  Doesn't look like those are going to be happening now and over the last few days as I started to realize it, something else started happening.

The funny thing about feeling sad (I don't want to say depressed because I think it is too strong of a word,) is how you can see the emotion approaching like a storm over the ocean horizon.  Sky is beautiful, birds are singing, but in the distance is this odd sort of haze that is building up.  The haze starts to turn into clouds, and you think "Yikes, what the hell is that all about?"  And then it starts getting closer and you find yourself slipping into old habits; thinking about an ex, listening to sappier music than normal, emotionally connecting to movies and/or tv shows WAY more than usual.  Eventually, that haze and conglomerate of clouds is upon you and you suddenly remember what it is.  How it feels.  And you simply say "oh."

I knew this feeling of being sad/boo-hooey was coming for a little while now.  A lot of shitty things seemed to be rolling down the ramp toward me one after the other and it was reaching a fever pitch the last couple days.  I've been really happy for quite some time now and as change has taught me, all good things must come to an end.  NOT to say that this is going to last, because it won't, but I know I will wallow in my own self-pity for a few days because of it.

What it all boils down to is this; I went to dinner tonight with @Markstyleme and his wonderful partner, Mr. M, and I suddenly realized that I'm sad because I'm single.  Not in the way of me wanting to get back together with the dreaded ex.  God no.  Watching them tonight I was able to look back on the best parts of my last relationship and I was able to really understand what it was about it that I loved.  What I loved was the "ease."  The natural ebb and flow that comes with working so well with another person.  You move, they move; you breathe in, they breathe out.

I know I'm not depressed because I'm happy for the people around me and don't want them to feel the way I do.  I think I also know I'm not depressed because I can freely admit that.

I am over the moon ecstatic for all of my friends and family that are in relationships, because I truly believe they are wonderful things.  I also think that sometimes it really sucks not being in one.  @klreynol called and left me a voicemail tonight (hey girl) because I was being mopey through text messages.  She touched on what I said about being sad that I am single by replying how it is the polar opposite when on the other side of the line.  When you are the only one in a relationship while out with a bunch of single friends, you think about how great it would be to be one of them again.

We all know full well that the grass is always greener on the other side.  This I know; she does too.  And this feeling will pass in quick time, which is why I'm not afraid of it.  I find it funny that I used to look forward to the fall season because with it came this odd sort of depression... which back then I welcomed with open arms because it was a comfortable feeling.  Now I look at being sad as nothing more than annoyance.  I spent a good two years being sad, mostly if not all the time, and I'm ready for this little 'bout to just... you know.  Just fuck off.

I'm off to enjoy some icecream and tv.  With my cats.  Because they love me unconditionally.  Holy shit I'm a loser.  G'night ya'll.

a fond farewell

There was something that I was bound and determined to do this year, hell or high water, because I knew that the time had finally come to do it.  While it may be construed as a cheap shot to use a single event as two of my 26 Golden Things, I feel that by splitting it down the middle I can effectively write a fairly massive blog for each side of the equation.  I suppose this could be called part one (and probably the bigger part,) but really it starts and ends here and doesn't move into the next blog too much.  So here it is, the latest in my list of things to do for my Golden Year.

#7 - A Fond Farewell; finally letting go of Bethel the Jeep.

Summer 2001

My family and I moved from Southern California to Wisconsin in March of 1997 because my dad was transferred here for work.  I remember we had a Suburban at the time that my mom was driving, without four-wheel drive of course because why the hell would you need that in the valley?  Regardless, my dad had to buy a new car and in April of that year he purchased a 1997 Jeep Cherokee 4x4 Sport.  She was navy blue with a gray interior, a CD PLAYER! and four-wheel drive, and above all else... she was fun.  I remember my excitement over the Jeep because we had never really had a "fun" car.  A mini-van, a couple sedans, my brother had an ugly white Mustang (sorry Josh,) and my mom had the Suburban.  But the Jeep was brand-spanking new and a beauty.

For the first year or so it was my dad's car, but then it became my sister Megan's once he got a company car.  My brother Josh at one point wanted to drive down to Milwaukee with a couple co-workers for some sort of convention I believe.  Weather was kind of shitty and he wanted to take the Jeep because it had four-wheel drive.  It was October of 1998 and the ONLY accident the Jeep would ever really be involved in.  At least, one that caused damage.  Josh hit a deer (could have happened to anybody) and that bitch CREAMED the Jeep.  (It will be referred to as "the Jeep" until I get to October of 2005, btw.)  These are a couple pictures from when it was at the impound lot.  I like the one on the right more because you can see the obvious blood from the deer, but also the hair stuck in the cracks of the fiberglass, lol.  The Jeep was patched up and ready to roll shortly after, good as new.  Megan was still pissed.

 October 1998

Time goes on and so did the Jeep, several years passing under the ownership of my sister.  She moved out of the house when I was a freshman in high school, taking the Jeep with her when she left; that would be the fall of 2000.  A few years later she and I went up to High Cliff State Park to take pictures and fart around for the day.  It was May of 2002.  Up at the observation deck, after taking in the views, Megan asked me if I wanted to drive the Jeep.  I was ALMOST in Driver's Ed (by which I was enrolled but had not yet taken a single class.)  So I drove the Jeep less than half a mile and then freaked out and pulled over.  I don't think I drove it over 10 miles and hours; really, I just coasted down the road.  Maybe a week later after seeing "Life or Something Like It," Megan let me drive again, this time down Midway Road in Appleton for a couple miles.  It was exhilarating; I still remember jerking the wheel wildly because I thought you had to do that in order to keep it on the road.

At the beginning of March in 2003, Megan got married and moved away to Hawaii which meant, miracle of miracles, that the Jeep was staying behind and my parents were giving it to me to drive.  She had 68,400 miles on her; I don't know why I still remember that.  I wish I had some pictures from those first couple months but I don't.  I only have a picture from the beginning of May 2003 when mom made me stand beside the Jeep for the obligatory "You're going to prom!" pictures.  I was on my way to pick up the lovely @roamingMo because she was taking me to prom (I was only a junior.)

 May 2003

Back then the Jeep was still a really nice car.  No dents or dings, no major problems under the hood (ignoring the deer incident, natch.)  God I look like such a prick in that picture.  Anyway.  So the Jeep was finally mine, I drove her everywhere, and picked anyone up who needed a ride and insisted on driving when in a group.  I LOVED driving her; windows down, blasting Michelle Branch with Kyle, gallivanting around Appleton.  A year later I made the first change to the car that would endure through the end.

 

The first bumper-sticker.  I actually had another one at the same time but eventually got rid of it after I came-out of the closet and put a Human Rights Campaign sticker in its place.  The sticker you see above I collected in New York in May of 2004.  The drama group from my high school took a semi-annual trip to the Big Apple and I was lucky enough to be able to go.  To this date it was the best time of my life... it was a trip that shaped me in a way I never would have anticipated and wouldn't change for anything in the world.  I started becoming comfortable in my skin.  I started realizing that high school was going to be over in a few weeks and that when it was... I would be free.  This sticker symbolizes to me the dawning of a new age.  Nearly every time I look at it, it reminds me of the person I was before school was over.  Because really, the summer of 2004 was the "shaping" summer and I obtained this riiiiiight at the beginning of it.

 August 2005

That summer did eventually come to an end and then I was (somewhat) the person I am now.  Kyle moved to Chicago for school so I went down to visit him a lot, the above picture being a return trip that brought him home with me.  This is one of the things that I take with me... one of the things that began to humanize the Jeep to me.  Memories.  And not just the memories of the people I drove with or the places we would wander to, but of the very existence of the car itself.  It was starting to become a character in the book of my life.

 September 2005

Washing the car with my nephew Brayden; he was about 14 months old.  In September of 2005 I started working at a call center named Convergys, specifically for United Health Group.  It was a miserable, thankless job that involved answering phone calls in regards to the new (at the time) prescription drug plan Medicare was rolling out with.  There were a lot of very angry old people calling, all the time, wanting to know why they were going to have to start paying more for meds and all that.  We didn't have cubicles, just these long rows of desks that had "walls" sitting on top of them.  On the opposite side of my wall was a co-worker who was very large, in her late 60's/early 70's, and had a fuckin' MOUTH on her.  In mid October when the phone lines went live, the following conversation occurred:

"No, I will NOT tell you my name, ma'am!"  

::customer on phone says something::  

"Because it's none of your damn business!  I'm answering your goddamn questions about medicine and that's it!" 

 ::customer on phone says something::  

"FINE!  My name is BETHEL!"

And thus, a star was born through my fits of silent laughter.  Enter stage left; Bethel the Jeep.

Almost in conjunction with Bethel being christened with a name was Edmund.  In October of 2005 our dog Gwyn, an English Mastiff and the sweetest thing in the world, was nearing the end of her run.  It happened too soon in all of our opinions but she ended up getting cancer and it was the only choice.  I was working at the call center and called my mom during my break to ask how Gwyn was doing, only to find out that she had been put down.  I went back to my desk in a bit of a daze and had an interaction with Terri.

Now, let me preface this by saying Terri was this crazy jackass who claimed she had a doctorate in child psychology.  She could also never explain why she was working for $9.10 an hour at a call center with said doctorate.  I digress.

Terri asks what's wrong and I'm trying to hold back my tears when I say that our family pet was put down.  She kinda gives this semi-smile and reaches into her desk and pulls out a rubber ducky.  It's one of those things you squeeze to relieve tension or stress.  Whatever.  Terri hands it over and says "Here Sean, you need this right now.  Just give it back when you're done."  And then she gets up and heads to lunch.  I proceeded without blinking to rip the head off.  I tossed the head on my desk and took a call, absentmindedly drawing red marker around the neck and then in the eyes, etc.  I took long pins from my cork-board and reattached the head.  Because I have a guilty conscience I started feeling like an asshole and realized I couldn't give the duck back to her, so I made up some story about how I would appreciate it if I could just have it.  She obliged, not seeing my handy work, and I ended up sticking him on the dashboard by the steering wheel.

I don't remember entirely why I named him Edmund... it just occurred.  Edmund became a good-luck omen for me because after I put him up I never received another ticket from a police officer.  Knock on wood.  Not that I am some CRAZY driver, but I was able to escape from every ticket or citation, whichever, in the years to follow.  He became the mascot of Bethel, allowing people to identify the Jeep in parking lots, at businesses, etc.  In my head we sort of formed a tri-fecta... not to say of course that I interact verbally with them.  

Okay, so that's a lie.  I tend to yell at Bethel when she makes ugly sounds.  True story.

 August 2006 

Bethel soon adopted a personality that matched my co-worker's.  (Former, actually, because I quit that shit-hole a couple weeks later to go back to Express full-time.)  Things started falling apart around then for the old girl.  The hoses needed to be completely replaced the summer of 2006 (when I went up to Jillybean's cabin and had the time of my life (again).)  That summer I was visiting Kyle in Chicago and someone at some point backed into the rear passenger side and smashed it in.  A rattle appeared in the dashboard that couldn't be fixed.  But I endured, because Bethel was my girl and I would stick with her through thick and thin.

 April 2008

Not much happened after 2006 though... my dating life kinda kicked off, sputtering and starting up again a few times before taking flight around the time the above picture was taken.  That was outside St. James Martini Bar, meeting some friends.  Good thing I was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt, didn't want people to think I was classy or anything.

 August 2008

I started taking "multiple" pictures that year, and this was one of the first finished products.  They look complex to make but they really aren't, you just need to have some finesse with Photoshop and the eraser tool.  Basically you set your camera up on a tri-pod (which I didn't have; my camera was taped down to a stack of books on top of the garbage can and set in the middle of the front yard.)  The sitting down pose is a no-brainer, as is the asshole drying the car off.  The one spraying the hose is doing just that... and then mom came in and got to spray me down.  As I said, clever eraser work.

 July 2009

I finally moved out on my own in 2009, buying Bethel from my parents for $1,000.  She was showing her age by that point and somewhat severely.  The entire brake system had to be replaced that spring, along with $900 of random work that fall.  The above picture was taken at the drive-in movie theater in Freedom, WI.  It's one of my favorite places.  The backdoor was having a problem staying open by itself, and on this day in particular we had shoved a piece of wood against the bumper to hold it up.  Kinda ghetto... but so were most people at the drive-in so that was OK.

January 2011

And then that happened.  Driving to work the day after a snow storm, Bethel did a couple 360's on the highway going about 60 mph and spun into the ditch.  I called work first to say I was going to be late, and then I called home and started crying.  In hindsight, I COULD say I was crying because it was the first sign that Bethel really was on her way out.  In reality I was crying because I was afraid it would cost too much to repair her, lol.  Luckily there was no damage, to the car or myself.  But it was the first sign of things to come.

Tires were replaced that summer.  Then the bolts holding the driver's seat down to the floor sheered off and I was forced to use plastic zip-ties and rope to hold it down.  The air-conditioning AND heater made mysterious noises when turned on.  Either it screamed like a strangled cat or rumbled and growled to the point where anytime I came to a stop, I had to turn the air off.  Embarrassing.  In the fall of 2011, she was dead and had to be towed out of the garage to be repaired.  Less than $100 to fix.  In the beginning of February 2012... she was dead and had to be towed out of the garage to be repaired again.  That one was $200.  Last week the driver's side window fell inside the door and to fix it would cost $200... and I decided that was it.

After nine fabulous years, countless memories, enough fits of laughter to fill a book and enough tears to last a  lifetime, it has come to the end.  Tomorrow, April 14th, 2012, Bethel the Jeep is getting traded in.  And it's actually kind of funny how sad I am about it.  I want to say that I'm heartbroken, but to do so seems melodramatic.  Still... it's my blog.  And I am heartbroken.

How do you say goodbye?  At first she started out as just another car, the first of many new things that came out of moving to Wisconsin.  Then she turned into the first car I ever drove, then the first car I ever owned.  Then the first car I traveled with, the first car I grew upset with, the first car I named, the first car I got frisky in (yeah, it happened, so what?)  At what point does a vehicle become more than the sum of its parts and turn into a friend?

Bethel has heard countless personal conversations; she's seen me cry so many times that I don't even want to think about it.  She's heard me sing in amazing key; she's heard me sing horribly FUCKING bad.  She's seen me laugh, lie, scream, joke, banter, flirt and give the silent treatment.  She's been the one thing over the past nine years that was constant for me, that one thing I knew I had that wasn't going to change.  So when the time comes to say goodbye, knowing full well she is going to be torn apart and sold off in pieces to the highest bidder... it is devastating.  I don't know any other word for it.  Tonight I peeled her stickers off, emptied the center console, and chucked most of the contents of the glove compartment.  There was an odd sense of finality about it all.

April 13th, 2012

I suppose I could have put on a black suit with a white shirt and a white tie, trying to mirror myself at age 17 when I first got Bethel.  But that would mean trying to show that I hadn't changed during the course of the near decade that passed between us.  Instead I chose to echo the colors and show myself at 26.  Comfortable in my own skin, pleased with my appearance and the condition of my body, and just... well, I guess just happy.  When I was in high school, I used to wonder what I would be like in five years... 10 years... 15 years.  I don't think I thought I would be the man I have become, for better or for worse.  I will admit, however, that if at 17 years old I saw the above picture I'd probably think "Ooof, shit... take your shirt off!"

I'm sure some of you reading this have memories in Bethel.  You might not remember them to the excruciating detail I do, but you have them.  I'd love for you to leave a comment below with some.  God, this is turning into a funeral!  But really, you don't need to be a member of a board or anything special to leave a comment, and I wish it would happen more often.  Leave your name, too, so I know who the hell you are.

In the end, Bethel wasn't a decent car.  She wasn't a good car.  She was a fantastic car.  She was everything I needed at anytime I needed it, and she drove me forward in life, both figuratively and literally.  Together we drove 111,000 miles, give or take the 20 I will be driving tomorrow to the dealership.  I'll always have a special place in my heart for this old bitch, warts and all.  She lived to be 15... let's see if I can do better next time (c:

#7 - A Fond Farewell; finally letting go of Bethel the Jeep.

I'll leave you with some Michelle Branch; 'ol blue would've wanted it that way.

minor course correction

Seems like there has been a re-design of the blog... can ya dig it?  Sorry, moving on.

I wonder if there was ever a person who did everything right the first time, never having to learn from a mistake he or she made.  Would that person have been wiser in the end to have fucked it up once, or would they have been as equally comfortable from a life of pure confidence?  If said confidence is key and we push ourselves daily to strive for excellence... I don't think I know the answer.

Earlier tonight I was talking to @klreynol about things I have learned lately.  Chief among them I said I learned to "trust my doubts."  She said it should be rephrased as "trust your instincts," and I must agree.  It sounds much less mopey and far more optimistic.  And I should add that over the last several weeks I was growing increasingly optimistic.  It was a nice change of pace... it was a return to form, if you will.  I used to be incredibly optimistic; one might say it was almost to a fault.

But things happen and then yadda-yadda, you get cheated on.  Optimism seems pointless at that moment in time.

I told the most important people in my life a month ago that there was a big change coming, not necessarily to me but from me.  A shift in direction.  There was a new wind blowing my sails and the exciting thing about it was that it was guiding me in a direction I felt I could watch with starry eyes.  That's the thing about meeting someone new, someone exciting and different from the rest... it inspires change within you.

The most exciting part of that change is what it causes you to do.  I had started my "minor" working out with the shake-weight, which I like to poke fun at while insisting it works to the non-believers (fact: it does work. Talk to my biceps (bam-BAM!))  I was randomly doing sit ups as well, but mostly because I felt like I should do something with my abs and they were easy.  But then I got a little more serious and went to town; started the ab-roller (guh, holy shit) and followed that by picking up running again.  I used to roll my eyes at people who worked out, mostly because I simply didn't understand how they could actually WANT to go to the gym.  Funny enough, it's probably because they feel better about themselves when they do it.  And wouldn't ya know it?  I started feeling better about myself too.  The amazing thing actually is that I started looking better too, and seeing any sort of result is worth its obvious weight in gold.

The other change is the ability to start believing in people again.  Being lied to for so long and SO successfully didn't do much for me other than to shatter my beliefs that people can be good.  Mainly, men I am interested in.  So in comes this new guy and it just feels... different.  I don't know what other word to use to describe it, he is just different.  And for every lie I thought he was whispering, he was in fact not.  Either by proving it himself or by me allowing that ugly paranoia to take control and find out for myself.  What's funny (not really) is how bad you feel when you THINK someone is lying, only to realize they aren't.  Because really, that disappointment you have building up in yourself towards the person when you catch them?  Yeah... when you end up being wrong, the only place it can go is to reflect back and smack you in the kisser.

Feeling like a jackass is not a favored quality, but god damnit I own it.

It's actually really hard to write all of this and keep quiet about the main issues at hand, but I have to.  I promised myself that I wouldn't air dirty laundry involving my relationship status (if you can even call it that (you can't)) this time, so I'll keep my big mouth shut.  Things are what they are and maybe they end up better and maybe they end up worse.  I think that's as vague as it gets.  Trust me, I hardly know more than you do at this point.

To get back to the beginning of this, it began as a topic of confidence.  We all have it to a certain degree, some more than others.  As time goes on I learn more about it and adapt myself to thrive on it, but there are still flaws and caveats I deal with.  I'm a prime case of someone who starts looking back on the past and analyzing it, almost to the point of exhaustion.  With my memory (which, if you know me, is razor-fucking-sharp,) I am able to look at entire conversations I have had and pinpoint a place in said conversations where I should have done something different.  If I could go back in time and erase a single line... if I could manifest myself in that past conversation and edit a small blurb with a magic marker, things would probably go better in every way imaginable.

Maybe that's why I write books?  Having the ability to dominate and control the outcome of every conversation contained within them gives me the ability to play god in some form.  I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I start writing a conversation and realize it is headed down a path that I'm not sure how I'll back out of.  Those of you who have read early versions of my manuscripts can attest to that.  The fun part is sitting back, looking at the words, and going "Ah, this part right here ::delete::"  But in real life it's obviously not that easy.  It's actually really hard.  And it's made even harder by staring at past words obsessively and figuring out the tiny pin-pricks of dialogue that ended up shaping things out of your favor, if they were ever in it to begin with.

But then... I got on Pinterest tonight, most wonderful of wonderful things, and started perusing my boards.  In "Thoughts" I found this gem:

And then I realized I needed to sit back from the situation, relax, and look forward.  Because not everything works out the way we want; it wouldn't be fair if it did.  Some of us may have more luck than others; some of us may have a better nack at reading a person and turning the "live" conversation in a direction that will only benefit them.  Sometimes I'm one of those people... and maybe this time I'm not.  And though I am not totally convinced of what I'm about to say... this time I'm okay with it.

Like I said, nothing is finished.  To me, nothing is ever finite until I feel I have engraved it in concrete and am satisfied it will stay that way.  Like I told @klreynol, I'm not typically one to let sleeping dogs lie.  Maybe I am confident after all?  We define confidence as belief in oneself and one's powers and abilities.  I'm confident in my words, 90% in real-time and 110% in rear-view-mirror time, and I suppose that accounts for something.

To the people I mentioned in paragraph one, the people who don't ever make mistakes (because they somehow and in someway MUST exist) I feel sorry.  I think of mistakes as a divine human gift.  We learn from them and grow greatly because of them, and to not make any at all is to never change in our ways.  If the last month has taught me anything it is that there really is a silver lining in every encounter, good or bad, that inspires us to change.

Maybe those changes are simple... they make us look at things in a slightly different light.  They make us do something just a little bit different than we did before.  They make us omit certain words from our conversations that show a weakness, such as "I hope I'm not annoying you."  Have the confidence you aren't annoying them, Sean... and maybe they really do like you.  Shit, I revealed something.  Maybe those changes build muscle, too.  And whatever the muscle that is built, in your arms or in your mind, take heed and notice it.  Changes are always a good thing.

I look now to a change in course... a slight correction in my navigation abilities.  Who knows what new opportunities they will bring?  The lesson learned here in the end, really, is that there are still good men (and women, whatevs,) and they don't all lie.  Which is cool by me.  I keep listening to the song below, partly because it's catchy and fun and partly because something about the lyrics resonate well with me.  

A picture paints a thousand words;

As one door closes, another doors opens, 

And two wrongs don't make a right.  

Now good things come to those who wait;

Take the highs with the lows dear,

You'll get what you're given and everything's gonna be alright.

Thanks, Lily Allen.  And thus I bid you all adieu (c:

a thing called luck

Let me dust these keys off for a second... ::dust dust:: ... okay, good to go.  I actually wrote a blog last week while I was on vacation.  I was laying out in the BRILLIANT March sunlight, soaking up some cancer rays, and had this somewhat deep blog written about the trees and reminiscing on things and "oh, wouldn't it be lovely" thoughts.  Then I forgot to post it.  Aaaaaand then I just re-read it... only to say "ew, fuck it."  So I'll write another one instead.  This one showing that I am still moving forward with my 26 Golden Things and not letting them fall by the wayside.  Two of the events even come with fancy pictures!

So... luck.  We define it as a force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person's life, as in shaping circumstances, events, or opportunities.  Certain religions may refer to it as karma.  Smart-ass business men refer to it as the intersection of preparedness and opportunity.  Pfft.  I'll stick with the original.  I think luck comes down to right attitude+right place+right time = amazing new options in life.  Here are three more action items from my list of 26 Golden Things for my golden year.

#4 - Relive Childhood; sledding at night.
#5 - Take a Chance; giving your number to a complete stranger.

#6 - Model; get paid for it.

What's that saying about March... in like a lion, out like a lamb?  Usually that is one of those "oh, not in Wisconsin" things but this year it rings true.  March started with a poop-show of a snowstorm that dumped a fair amount of inches on us, and by the middle of the month it was 80 degrees and sunny.  The weather is kind of leveling out as I write this but the sentiment still rings true.  The night of March 2nd, @caitcd posted a status on Facebook wondering if anyone would like to partake in a sledding adventure.  Being the year of new experiences (and an unwillingness to say "no" to many many things,) I decided to join her.

It actually wasn't cold at all outside, come to think of it.  I was sweating my ass off by the time we started our jaunt down the hills of Reid Golf Course.  Since I am making a special little video that I will showcase at the end of the year, it is my sole duty to record my life and the day-to-day events that occupy it.  For the most part they aren't very good video clips but this was a rare exception.  When Reid ended up kinda sucking (the snow was so wet that it was just mush (too mushy in fact to gain any speed in our tubes)) we headed over to the Banta Bowl.  After a couple grueling hikes up a hill, sledding down and frolicking in the snow, I decided to record my final trip for the night.

Well it didn't go exactly as... planned.  I recorded @caitcd going down first, then plopped my fat (pre-shakeweight) ass down and started scooching (technical term) forward.  If anyone ever wants to come to my house to watch the video, you are more than welcome.



At first you can hear me saying "ohhhh god, ohhhh god," and then you can tell I am rocketing down the hill.  Then my joyful shout turns into a blood curdling scream as I hit a JUMP at the bottom of the hill.  The camera, having been very steady up to the point, happened to aim itself at the streets lights; it is at that point the world goes careening and spinning wildly around as I jack-knife in a tumble across the snowy landscape.  The video ends with @caitcd screaming in laughter.  Still, it was a good night!




Okay, got that one out of the way so now we move on to the more exciting of the Golden Things, that being giving my number out to a total stranger.  I'd like to preface this with a very quick history: I had seen him a year earlier at a restaurant and thought of him often.

Told you it'd be quick.

We flash forward a couple days to March 3rd, a whole day later!  I am out on the town with @klreynol and @caitcd for the latter's brother's birthday, when the latter's brother's girlfriend's friend's (following me?) from work show up.  One happens to be said cute guy from the restaurant a year earlier.  So we start making flirty-eyes (coined phrase, natch) through the night and eventually the group moves on to another bar (sans cute guy.)  At the end of the evening I was walking back to the car with @klreynol and decided to see if said cute guy was still in the original bar, and indeed, he was.

With the prodding of my bestie I went inside and we ordered drinks.  I wrote my name and number on receipt tape.  Plan firmly in place, things are feeling good; I'm also terrified, having never given my number out to anyone EVER.  Well... save for a waiter at The Olive Garden when I was 17 but that so totally does NOT count.  That dude never called, by the way.  So... whatever.  Anyway, feeling good, looking good, and then @klreynol points out that cute guy is getting ready to leave.

I don't know how to explain the surge of adrenaline that rushes through you when you decide to let go of the past and barrel forward into the future.  To release a childish inhibition and throw caution to the wind, knowing that the action you are about to take is solely for your own peace of mind and no one else's.  It was the one year anniversary of breaking up with the dreaded ex; time to make a change.  I marched right up to him, looked him in the eye (he was surprised,) grabbed his wrist and placed my number in the palm of his hand.  And then I bolted... and he didn't let go of my hand so I kind of tore it away and shot for the exit.  I never said I had a good follow-through.

Needless to say he texted me, and we went out.  And have gone out a couple times since.  And that's where I end that bit, and it is for two reasons; Reason 1.) I don't want to jinx it.  Reason 2.) Maybe some things are better left unsaid... doing so leaves them in a special place and provides a sense of privacy I tend to abandon in these blogs.  Mooooooving on.

St. Patrick's Day.  I'm Irish, I love being Irish, and I suppose it is the... shall we say luck of the Irish... that I found myself at a photo shoot for the green holiday this year.  @MarkStyleMe and I were going to be spending the holiday weekend together this year, as I had it off from work and he did as well.  We have a rather colored history with this specific day of the year, one of which involved running up and down College Avenue, holding fairly mean conversations with overly-drunk women that didn't realize it and me getting dollar bills stuffed down my green polo shirt.  True story.

@MarkStyleMe works with David E. Jackson, a photographer from the area, as a stylist for some of his photo shoots and was in contact with him in regards to a lighting seminar he was holding.  The purpose of the seminar was to teach photographers from all over the country some tips and tricks in regards to lighting your pictures with light boxes, light umbrellas, natural light, etc., and he needed a few models for it.  Enter my 6'4" frame and smiling face (which David said looked like Matt Damon's (#winning.)  There were four models all together (@MarkStyleMe and myself included) and we quickly broke off into groups of photographers.  Truth be told I was incredibly nervous.  I've been in plenty of pictures and I've taken plenty of pictures, so you'd think that the natural progression of that would be that I would know exactly what to do in this scenario.

I didn't.  Enter David E. Jackson.

He came to our group first and just grabbed the reigns, arranging the lights and arranging me.  Tilt your head; tilt a little more; squint a little; squint a little more; do something with your hands; keep them moving; lean forward; squint some more; give me a smirk.  With the easiest of directions it just... fell into place.  I guess I fell into place, and then fell into a pace as well.  What started as unease turned into extreme comfort and then it became sort of a defining moment.

I have never WANTED to be a model.  It's too easy for me to cast that aside in terms of "You know you're too tall, you know you don't have a six-pack, you know your jaw isn't that amazing."  But if it was only for a day to feel special, and to feel like I was important... it was worth it.  I doubt I'll ever forget how it felt to have cars slow down to watch what was happening.  And probably to wonder who the fuck I was.  I haven't gotten any pictures back from the other photographers save for one taken by the wonderful Sarah Laux from La Bella Vie Photography in Milwaukee.

Update: Here are two of the pictures taken by David E. Jackson.

Taking my new found "skills" in how to pose for pictures, I took a couple of my own this past weekend.  Technically they are just for my "Dicking with Photoshop" album on the good 'ol Facebook, but they were also to see if I could continue to elevate my self-portrait skills.  Maybe eventually I will move on to other living creatures... aside from my cats. Sad life, wa-waaa-waaaaaaa.

Well that's all of the self-promoting I've got in me for the evening.  And that rounds out three more new and exciting things I have done this year.  The first had to do with shaping circumstances (a crazy snow-storm.)  The second dealt with a shaping event (running into a guy I've thought of over the last year and in the least likely place.) The third had to do with a shaping opportunity (photo shoot run by a commercial photographer.)  Wait a minute, I just outline the definition of LUCK!  Look at me bringin' this bitch full cirlce, hey-o!  Let's recap what we have all learned tonight through my three latest Golden Things, shall we?

#4 - Relive Childhood; a wonderful night of sledding in the dark with @caitcd.

#5 - Take a Chance; gave my number for the first time ever to a really hot guy in what could only be described as a serendipitous encounter.

#6 - Model; for the first time, maybe the last time (NOT IF I CAN HELP IT!) and collect a happy 'lil check at the end.

I hope you all enjoyed this... at least more than I enjoyed writing it.  Sometimes I start these little fuckers and lose steam half way through.  It doesn't help that I've been awake since 5:15 this morning and it is now creeping past 10:44.  I know, boo-hoo, but whatever.  Have a great night (c:

the things we aren't

Well, here we are!  Nearly half way (by means of being only a third) into March and I'm still in the same spot I thought I'd be.  Which is to say... nothing.  I don't have anywhere to go with that sentence.  Clever me!  This is one of those instances where I am writing just to write, and not necessarily to promote some profound idea I've had or anything of the sort.  I've had a lot on my mind the past couple days and I am starting to drive myself a little bit crazy, so I think an outlet of words is a healthy option for now.

Lately I've been thinking about how fake people can be.  By people I obviously mean myself, but in this instance I do casually refer to the general populous at large.  I don't mean fake in the terms of "Hey, you phony bitch, why did you lie to me?"  I mean fake more along the lines of the facades we put up on a day to day basis in view of the general public and, in some cases, in view of those we hold closest to us.  I think our lives fill up with all of the things we aren't instead of the things we really are, and I don't know how to curb that.  If anyone does, please, come forward... but I don't think that will happen.  I don't think anyone can ever truly be themselves around anyone BUT themselves.  Could be wrong on that, but again, I don't believe I am.

So, the general public and those we hold closest to us.  Let's call them the GP and the HC from here on out.  I deal with the GP 40 hours a week because it is my job to do so.  As the assistant manager at a retail store that begins with an E and ends with ESS (left out that tell-tale syllable just in case I needed to.  It has an X.  Shit.) it is my job to deal with random people every day.  For the most part my customers are pleasant.  Sometimes they are downright fun.  A lot of other times they are the biggest group of dumb fucks I have ever encountered, but I digress.

Now, you might be able to find three of them that know my name.  You might be able to find one (one) of the regulars who would remember some tiny, insignificant detail about me.  Where I am going on vacation.  Where I live.  What my opinion on the slow mall traffic and construction on Oneida Street is.  The sad part of that is I could name a couple dozen of our customers, what they or their spouses do for a living.  Where they are taking/have taken vacation(s).  Kids names.  Pets names.  Thoughts on said construction and mall traffic.  Logic tells me that if a customer is always right and the customers pay my salary, then I am indeed employed by the GP and not a global corporation.

To me what is sad about that scenario is that I take time on a daily basis to get to know people and figure them out and they could really just give two flying fucks to the wind about what I think.  Who I am.  Because to them, I am merely the person who swipes a credit card or explains why you can't wear certain tops with certain bottoms or suede boots underneath dress pants.  To the GP I am a nameless face that doesn't really exist and I suppose that is alright because at the end of the day, none of them REALLY matter to me either.  They exist in their own worlds and I in mine and that is the natural order of things.  Maybe they don't get to see the real me because I can't say the things I would say to my family or closest friends.  Doing so would either get me fired or scare the conservatives away.

An Ideal Transaction That Will Never Happen At Work:

Sean stood at the cash-wrap, his head down as he pierced the fabric of the blue button down with a sensor pin and lined it up with the gator tag's hole.  With a firm push and a simple snap! the garment was secured and ready to be placed on the floor.  He looked up as a customer approached, one he knew from frequent visits to the store.

"Hey Jessica!" He called, pushing the garment away and reaching over the counter for the items she had brought up.

"Hey Sean!"

"Find everything alright today?" he asked, expertly removing the sensors on her clothing and starting a transaction.  She nodded enthusiastically.

"I did, yes.  Thank you."

"No problem.  How was your weekend?  Do anything exciting?"  She sort of shrugged her shoulders and leaned against the counter, absentmindedly rummaging through her purse for a coupon she had thought to bring.

"Not really, just stayed at home with Rick and the kids.  What about you?  Anything fantastic happen?"  Sean felt the blush on his cheeks for a brief instant as he scanned her merchandise and started sliding it into a bag.  He briefly looked at her and grinned before accepting her coupon.

"Well... I had a date Friday night."  Jessica reared back in surprise, giving him a double take.

"You did?"

"Yes, with the most amazing guy.  It was perfect."

"Did you get a goodnight kiss?"

"$47.98 is your total," he mumbled before adding, "and yes, I did.  That was perfect as well."

"Good for you!" Jessica exclaimed, swiping her credit card and finishing the transaction.  As she took her bag and turned to leave she glanced over her shoulder.  "Really, good for you," she said sincerely, "I hope it works out."

The truth of the matter behind my facade with the GP is that I am a very private person that hardly ever speaks about himself.  The answers I provide to their questions, when directed to me as a person and not me as a sales person, are generic.  They are dry.  "What do I think of the weather?  I think it's great and what a shame I'm stuck in here all day, haha!"  "Do I have any vacations of my own coming up?  Maybe something at the end of the year but who knows, I might not be able to get off work!  Haha!"  Never forget that the person helping you at a clothing store is 99% the fakest person you will encounter that day, mostly because they aren't there to share life stories.  They are there to sell a product and not give you clues as to how to find them outside of the store when they have punched out for the day.  A blank slate you project yourself upon.

Now in reality that conversation above would never, ever, in a million years happen.  Not to say Jessica is or is not real, because she very well could be.  And not to say Sean did or did not go on a date last Friday night... because he very well may have.  Ahem.  On to the HC's.

I think I have a multiple personality disorder.  And in the history of not deleting anything I type out (save for spelling corrections, natch) I would very much like to go back right now and delete that.  It's more fun to explain it though.  I don't have MPD in the sense of voices in my head telling me what to do, etc.  I mean it in regards to how I change myself to bend to the wills of the people around me.  We all do it, don't lie.  This isn't something that is limited to friends though, or even family alone.  It is everyone we hold (I hold) closest.  You can act a certain way around different people in order to make them happy and/or comfortable, right?  Same thing.

I like to categorize mine.  They are as follows:

The Writer:  Reserved most often for people I haven't seen since high school or others that mean just as little but whose opinions I would like to sway for fear they will bring me up to others.  The Writer emerges as a self-promoting genius who uses big words and often resorts to the "Oh, you didn't know that?" tactic.  As I said, reserved for people I could give a shit about.

The Comedian:  Most often in play, the comedian is who I try to be as a default.  Doesn't always work, but when it does, it really does.  Enjoys making people laugh, enjoys telling stories in a way that are enthralling even if the actual event was far from it.  Takes a cue from self-proclaimed gifts of "The Writer" (or the musings of a self-proclaimed author... bang.)

Mr. Incredible:  Dates only.  Usually Mr. Incredible only lasts a couple dates because of two reasons.  1.) It is very difficult to be continuously witty and cute at the same time while commanding attention and leading the conversation in a way that is both charming and influential all at once.  2.) It isn't who I REALLY am, and eventually everyone realizes that.  You can't be incredible 24/7.

The Whiner:  Most often emerges around friends who also work retail, as the job forms a bond across all companies and all stories can be sympathized with.  Most experiences are shared in one capacity or another and sometimes a good hour-long bitching session is just what the doctor ordered.  Does whine about anything and everything else, though.  Not to be exclusive.

The Achiever:  Rears his head in conversations that have to do with goals and ideas, often over drinks.  Talks about and imagines a life that is greater, with more purpose.  What he would do if he could, what he will do when he can, etc.  Thinks he's deep when really he probably sounds like a big boob.

I'm sure there are other facades that exist within the lexicon of Sean Parker, but right now they aren't coming to me.  The whole point I am trying to make in this is why can't we ever just be ourselves like we want to be?  I suppose that is what true love is reserved for, to find someone who loves your flaws as much as your finer qualities and accepts them all the same.  In regards to earlier in this long blog post... I did go on a date.  And surprisingly, I'm not going to talk about it.  Some of you will be privy to the finer details but I think that this time, as opposed to all others, I am going to play the cards a little closer to my chest.

That being said, it's amazing how much you fear you showed the wrong face to someone you just met.  Maybe "Mr. Incredible" should have been "The Comedian."  Maybe "The Comedian" should have had more of "The Achiever," and less of "The Writer."  Who knows.  Well, scratch that.  I know.  I should have just been me, myself, and I; the pieces that I wake up with in the morning and go to bed alone with every night.  The foundations of my personality and the pieces that make me a whole.  It's easier said than done... maybe some of you know that.  In the end, it's all we've got.

I'm going to go to bed now because I have rambled on for a VERY sufficient amount of time.  Thanks for spending your night/morning/afternoon/break/whatever with me.  This is "The Whiner," signing off.

a full year stronger

So today is March 3rd, 2012; the one year anniversary of moving forward.  I would say the one year anniversary of being single but that wouldn't be correct, as I did have a short relationship in the fall.  So... one year of moving forward.  I didn't think I would have to write any more about Ken, re: the dreaded ex, and if this date had already passed then I wouldn't be.  However, this day had not yet passed and this is where I find myself.  It is the last milestone to overcome, if it hadn't already been, and it is met with a feeling of duty rather than a feeling of sadness.

The sadness would come for obvious reasons.  One year without a fiance, without a house I myself had found and was a vagina's hair away from owning, and without the pain of living a lie.  But instead it is that feeling of duty; I owe it to myself to write this, to purge the final emotions and/or thoughts I have of the collective memories Ken embodied.  No better way to do it than a blog, right?  Right.

Now, we all know how I am a fan of analogies.  It's just who I am; someone who thinks he is deeper than he really is and doesn't have a problem shaking a finger at that fact.  I would like to take this opportunity to liken the end of the relationship to that of a bomb.  Nuclear, atomic, concussive... whatever.  Well not really concussive because that would entail there was no fire and to say there was no fire would be to imply that no one got burnt.  And I burnt some bitches.  Just the charm of me being me (c:  Off we go.


flash [flash]
    noun
    1. a brief, sudden burst of bright light.


I think the flash happened a while before the actual break up but to be certain in that logic would be a mistake.  Ken had been flashing (other people, haha (I had to)) for a while before March 3rd.  Brief glimpses of the atomic fusion that was occuring at the core of "us."  I remember driving home from signing the paperwork for the loan a year ago today when the initial fight started.  We were in his car, he was driving.  The tension had been building over night because I was giving him the silent treatment for talking to that man-whore.  He just SNAPPED in the car and... well, you snap at me and I'll snap back, bigger and louder.  Again, it's the charm of being me.

The "flash," if you will, continued to us getting home, duking it out, and me going to work to cry in the back room with @markstyleme.  I was 45 minutes late that day... and it was pretty awful.  It was awful driving away from Ken, it was awful enduring work that day, and it was awful driving home.  Upon arriving home, things had mostly settled.  I think by that point the damage had been done by telling him I was breaking up with him (and then saying we'd work things out.)  Later Ken would tell me that when I said that, "something died inside."  Whatever; it had been dead.

The next morning was when I found out about more of his lies and I decided to stay with my parents for a few days.  I was gone for a total of five, during which we talked on Google Chat frequently and discussed the terms of dissolving our lives together.  Escaped from buying the house unscathed, luckily.  By the time I went back, the flash had vanished.  But it was replaced by the next stage of an explosion.


fireball [fahy-uhr-bawl]
    noun
    1. the highly luminous central portion of a nuclear explosion.
        - can temporarily or permanently blind persons looking
           directly into fireball.


I remember finding the information on Ken's phone the night I came home that proved he had already moved on with the cheap whore that I assumed he had.  Nothing can describe how it felt to see that.  I went downstairs (he was in the bathroom taking a shower) and I paced the living room.  And then I screamed.  I'm not a very loud person, most of you already know that.  My voice hardly, if ever, gets raised out of anger.  But it was a scream of such rage and anger and hatred and sadness and desperation and jealousy that I could feel it emptying from my feet and my hands.  I could feel it in my teeth and my eyes, and most of all I could feel it in my heart. (Oof, writing this I still get worked up.  I'm going to use my new Shakeweight for a moment, excuse me (little product placement.  Make the check payable to "Sean 'Fierce-Bitch' Parker."))

Walking, nay, marching, up the stairs when he got out of the shower was probably one of the proudest moments of my life.  It involved me telling him "I'm glad I broke up with your lying ass," and then taking the picture frame he had engraved for me on our 6 month anniversary and smashing it on the corner of the bathroom counter.  I threw the frame down and said "take it with you when you go," picture still inside and destroyed.  That would be my "Waiting to Exhale" moment, in hindsight.  I'll be Angela Basset.


shock wave [shok-weyv]
    noun
    1. a region of abrupt change of pressure and density moving as 
        a wave front at or above the velocity of sound, caused by 
        an intense explosion or supersonic flow over a body.


Less than a week later he moved out, the full repercussions of it finally hitting me.  I drove home from working in Green Bay that day to an empty house.  I think he knew he was pushing his time limit before I got home, because the kitchen table and chairs were mostly heaved to the side of the kitchen, the floor was wet and muddy from moving his fishtank, and the heat, while turned off, was still at a palpable 72 degrees.  The garage was empty of his things, save (honestly) for small bits of rubble, some of his paperwork, and some pens and small nick knacks.  It was unequivocally the collateral damage that one would expect.

It was a hard night knowing that it was over.  Knowing that even if I could fix it and get him to come back, it would never be the same.  I talk big now but at the time, I was nothing short of heartbroken.  You know you're in an abusive relationship when even having all signs point to doom, you still keep coming back for more.  But that wanting eventually hits a crescendo and that's when you know the shockwave has passed the external boundaries and vanquished on the horizon.


firestorm [fahy-uhr-stawrm]
    noun
    1. an atmospheric phenomenon, caused by a large fire, in which 
        the rising column of air above the fire draws in strong 
        winds often accompanied by rain.
    2. burns up all available oxygen.


The next couple weeks were pretty quiet and tame.  Frequent visits from friends to keep me company, the feeling of being cold all the way down to my core, and the visual companion of shedding weight like a fat kid on diet pills in a sauna.  But then there was the special day that I received an "anonymous" e-mail (truth be told, it was never anonymous.  I know who sent it and we are pretty good friends now.) that outlined all of Ken's trysts.  Until that point, which was about a month after the breakup, I had been very civil.  I hadn't been vindictive or conniving in any way, save for the thoughts I had in my own mind and spoke to no one but my closest friends.

I think to say the time of my anger and retribution was reaching a fever pitch would be an understatement.  I was ready to use my strongest weapon, my words, in a form I had never done.  A post of facebook that would throw him and his deeds into the public eye, where his friends and his family would see it.  It wasn't done solely for my own sake, but for the exes that came before me.  The ones that didn't get to have their stories told, the ones that were forced to look like the sole bad person of each failed relationship with him.  That wouldn't be me.

I tricked him into coming over that day, said I had mail for him (which I did,) and then I showed him all of the proof of his deeds that had been sent to me.  He tried to run away and I chased after him, jumping on his car and leaning through the window to make sure he heard what I had to say.  (Still playing the diva card, admittedly.)  After he left he asked me to delete his friends and coworkers, especially his family, before posting the note.  I declined and posted it anyway.  It felt good, truth be told.  I thought for a moment that I'd feel like a real shit for doing it but... nope!  So with all visual effects of the explosion having taken place, there was only one way to go and that was onward.


fallout [fawl-out]
    noun
    1. the settling to the ground of airborne particles ejected 
        into the atmosphere from the earth by explosions or 
        eruptions.
    2. an unexpected or incidental effect, outcome, result, or 
        product.


It took a few months.  I had to move home and understand my role in all of this in order to see any sort of light at the end of the tunnel.  There were a lot of bad days.  A couple good ones sprinkled in, but a lot of bad ones.  A lot of tears shed in my old bedroom at my parents house.  A lot of tears shed at my friends houses, in the backroom at work, in the bathroom at work.  Mostly on the drives home at night.  Every tear falling though is one less in the reservoir.  I feel we have a set amount we are going to cry over someone, or something, and eventually they do run out.  I didn't want to be told by anyone that someday it'd be better and that time heals all wounds.  You can only look back on things and say that.  Living in it, in the moment, you don't want to think it.

Your grief is your own and it is something you need to come to terms with on your own.  A relationship ending really is like a death, and you need to mourn it for as long as it takes.  Forcing it to move along, even telling yourself you need to move along, isn't doing anyone any favors.  And eventually that day came, in January.  And yes, I blogged about it.  The funny thing about it is that I look at that January blog post as the biggest purge; it felt good to get it out and it still feels good to have it out.  That's when you turn to the recovery effort after the fallout.


growth [grohth]
    noun
    1. development from a simpler to a more complex stage.


Here is where I find myself now.  Not bitter, not angry.  Mildly complacent would be the best adjective I can muster.  I wouldn't have thought I'd be here a year ago, but no one ever thinks they will end up where they eventually do.  Well... some people do but they are probably assholes.  To be honest I thought I'd still be reeling from this.  Charlotte on Sex and the City once said it took half as long as you were in relationship to be able to get over said relationship.  With that logic, I'd still be dealing with the grief until September.  I think the fact that I'm not is telling of how long we had stopped being "us" before we actually stopped being... us.  It'd been over for a long time and I can see that now.

So we do what we do and we pay for our sins (thank Tim McGraw,) but in the end we do move on.  I moved on.  I'm happy now, I feel good about myself now.  I'm making great strides in changing my life and I'm loving every second of it.  I don't know what else to say about growth.  It happens when you are ready and it happens faster than you'd expect.  Remember planting a seed in a little dixie cup of dirt when you were little?  You watered it every other day or so and set it in the sunlight on your windowsill, waiting for it to sprout?  Then one day you came home from school and it was half an inch tall?  I think it's a lot like that.

You wait and you wait, you achieve the required steps and you do what is expected of you to resume a normal life, and then one day you realize you've been growing and changing the entire time.  It just took a few extra hours at the tail end to see the progress.  I didn't want to post a song by Kelly Clarkson to commemorate this occasion so I'll post one instead by my new favorite artist, Graffit6 (Jamie Scott, yum.)  My favorite line in this song, which is about post-breakup, is "I'm gonna run like I'm 17 forever."  Time to lace up those shoes!  Have a great day everybody; I'm off to celebrate with my besties (c: