Wednesday, November 30, 2005

At the End of it All

It's dark now, and I am laying alone in my bed. The silence only broken by the scattered thoughts that are colliding like atoms inside my consciousness. Furious explosions of memories won't let me sleep.

Sweet kisses, walks in Central Park, standing together at the ocean's edge at midnight...

Anger, resentment, indifference and pain...

It's all over now and I know, in the deepest parts of me, it was the right decision to walk away. I knew it was time to let you go...and for me to finally have some semblance of peace.

"Save yourself! Salvage what's left of your sanity! Get out while you still have something positive to hold on to!"

Those thoughts, from other sleepless nights, were the catalyst for transformation.

So what do I do with this now? Tonight I feel as though the memories are eating me alive, devouring my sensibilities whole. But I can't let it. I can't allow the sadness to take over. I won't.

When the gray fog of sleep finally comes over me, I am grateful for it. It cloaks the memories in a haze, watering down the colors of my emotions. My breathing slows, I shut my eyes, and at once, everything is set to right again.

I woke up today with a sense of hope. The sadness that had troubled me in those late, dark hours is all but gone. It has been replaced with something that I am yet unable to put my finger on, something lighter. But I know one thing for certain... weren't the first thought in my head when I awoke, and for that, I am grateful.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

And Then it (He) Hit Me...

Exactly one week ago today, in response to this post Armaedes said...

You need to simmah down now. It pisses me off when people go ape-shit changing everything to make the other person in the relationship happy, that's gay. You should be able to act like yourself and they can take it or leave it. There's a fine line between making compromises and changing yourself to make them happy.

My response was to tell him that I was merely changing a part of myself that I didn't like. However, upon further reflection - and I can't believe I'm saying this - Armaedes, YOU WERE RIGHT. Why should I have to change anything? What it comes down to are these three simple facts:

  • I am, after all, only human, and I have flaws.
  • I am a good, scratch that, great, person, and a lot of people love me.
  • I should be with someone who wants me, all of me. The good with the bad.

Our flaws, or idiosyncrasies, are what make us unique. Special, even. Why should we change them and lose a part of who we truly are? At the end of the day, when I lay my head down on my pillow, I like who I am, and I fall asleep with a clear conscience. I'm not giving that up for anyone.

So, last night I made a major, life-altering decision. I've made a clean break from him. I've walked away, and I'm not going back. Over the past few months, this relationship became more and more like a broken record. We kept hitting the same snags along the way. But instead of going out and buying a new one, we just kept smacking the player, hoping to get past the rough spots.

It will be difficult, and I'm not deluding myself in to thinking otherwise. I've been in love before. I know what the end of the game is like. But oddly, there's a sense of happiness and hope that I haven't felt in months. Maybe it's because I'm looking forward to a future unfettered by tension and stress. Maybe it's because I know I'm still capable of loving someone. Better yet, maybe it's because I'm now free to find that "big bad love" I know I deserve.

Whatever the case may be, I like my odds, and I'm happy. Isn't that what really counts?

Thanks for the smack in the face, Armaedes. I needed that.

Even Better...

My horoscope today...

Expect one of those 'a-ha!' moments -- one in which something's suddenly crystal clear, and your heart and your head feel a million times lighter because of it. Letting go can feel incredibly good.

Holy shit, that's creepy.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

Not that any of you, my three readers, actually give a shit, but I'm tired, I'm cranky & I'm menstrual, so I won't be posting this evening. I'm afraid anything I write may be tainted by raging frustration and anger that's been steeping in a steaming pile of estrogen for the past several says. Needless to say, I wouldn't want to subject my worst enemy to ME at the moment, let alone all of you.

Have a good day, and if you see me on the street on Tuesday, I'd advise crossing to the other side.

A Holiday Challenge

Take a look around you. Do you have a roof over your head? Next, go to your refrigerator. Is there food in it for you to eat? Then, go to your closet. Do you have plenty of warm clothing? Finally, if you have children, walk to their room. Are there books for them to read and toys with which to play? If, like me, you can answer yes to most of these questions, then I have a challenge for you.

The events of this year have left so many people without shelter, food, and most importantly, hope. My family and I have decided to forego the usual gift giving and instead, spend the money where it can bring the most happiness. We're taking the money we would have spent on presents for one another and making a family donation to the American Red Cross.

I ask you to please, consider peoples' NEEDS this year before you think about people's WANTS. Think of the amount of joy a donation by you will bring to a family that so desperately needs the basic necessities you take for granted. After all, isn't this what the holiday season is all about?

So please, pass this along to your loved ones. There's so much that's bad in this world, but I believe it's possible for that to change. It is my sincerest hope that you believe it too.

Thank you,


Sunday, November 27, 2005

For Mona, with Love

I'm stealing a page from EZ here...

Like everyone else in this big scary world, I've had my fair share of ups and downs. There were times I thought I'd never again have happiness in my life. At the time we met, I had just cut myself off from my former life, and nearly everyone in it. I forced myself to make the clean break I had so desperately needed. It was a huge step for me, and a rather risky one at that.. How do you start over after nearly thirty years of life? And then I met you, and everything changed.

The fact that we didn't like each other the very first day we met still amazes me to this day. You had your glasses pulled down on your nose, and you were staring at me over the screen of your laptop. I can't even imagine what you must have thought of me at that moment. If I were pressed to venture a guess, I think it might have gone something like this...

"Who the hell does this bitch think she is, waltzing in here with her low-cut shirt, boobs hanging out for everyone to see? And my Lord, her mouth! She must have said 'fuck' at least twenty times in the last ten minutes! Christ, she's brash. And obnoxious. And tough as nails. She MUST be from the South Side." Am I close, Mona?

I remember consciously deciding on my way in that day to keep my guard up. Scare 'em. Show them who's boss right away so they can't see how terrified you actually are. But you saw right through me, didn't you? You - ONLY you - could see that it was all an act. You knew I was a phony. It was me in my finest self-preservation mode, and I didn't fool you for one second.

And then, one day, everything changed. It's remarkable how one tiny meltdown can bring two people together. The day that you lost your marbles, so to speak, turned out to be the best day of my life. That was the day you became my friend.

Jesus, we've been through our fair share of craziness, haven't we? Broken relationships, major illnesses, career changes. You name it, we've probably seen it all, but I wouldn't change one bit of it, because it's made our friendship as strong as it is today. More importantly, it's made us who WE, as individuals, are today.

So, if I haven't told you lately just how damn much I love you, let me say it now...

You, above all others, have been my rock. You've picked me up when I was at my lowest, and nudged me, ever so gently, in the right direction. You've taught me that I am a good person, and that I'm capable of giving a great deal of love to others. And you've shown me that I'm worthy of love. Big love.

You're the voice in my head when I make decisions. You're the person I strive to be every day of my life. You have the kindest, gentlest soul of any person I've ever, or will ever, know. I am in constant awe of your brilliance, talent, beauty and creativity. You've taught me patience (and not just because you're always late) and compassion, which are two virtues I'd never thought myself capable of. To me, you are perfect, and I am so very grateful that you have chosen to be a part of my life.

Oh, and by the way, I will never again see a butterfly ("Is it that whole chrysalis/rebirth thing?") or a pair of nude hose ("I don't wear nude hose, but I'm checking it for runs anyways.") without laughing my ass off.

You have brought so much joy in to my life, and are as much a sister to me as my own. I will never, ever be able to repay you for the gifts you've given me, but I promise you I'll work every day for the rest of my life to make sure you know how much I appreciate you.

I saw a movie not too long ago, and it reminded me of US. It was about friendship between two women that spanned decades. It was a funnier, Irish version of "Beaches." Why do the Irish always have a knack for doing everything better? Anyways, at one point in the film, one of the women found out she had a terminal illness. One day, she and her friend were on a boardwalk, overlooking the ocean, discussing the future, and what she said struck me. All I could think of was you.

She said, "You know, we're here for a good time, not a long time, and having a friend like you is as good as it gets."

To me, they're wisest words I've ever heard. I hope that, for the rest of your life, you'll carry them with you and think of me. I love you, kiddo, & always will.

Friday, November 25, 2005


I feel a bit odd, nay, hypocritical writing this. Given my propensity towards stereotyping and poking fun, I should be the last person to tell anyone to watch the movie I've just seen. But nonetheless, I feel that it's important for everyone to take a look at Paper Clips. What these children of Whitwell, Tennessee have done is beyond remarkable, and they have restored a little bit of my faith in humanity. I hope it does the same for you. You can check out their website for more info.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Nobody Knows it Better than Dylan and Jones

I have nothing to write tonight. But Bob know's what I'm thinking about...

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm."Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

And if you don't understand that, maybe Norah can explain it to you...

Like a flower waiting to bloom
Like a lightbulb In a dark room
I'm just sitting here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

Like the desert waiting for the rain
Like a school kid waiting for the spring
I'm just sitting here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

My poor heart It's been so dark
Since you've been gone
After all you're the one who turns me off
You're the only one who can turn me back on

My hi-fi is waiting for a new tune
My glass is waiting for some fresh ice cubes I
'm just sitting here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

Acuff Rose Music, Inc. (BMI)

Halitosis and Ho-Dom

Last night was girl-talk night for me & E. We went to the bar that I work at part-time, knowing it would be quiet enough for us to share salacious details without fear of being overheard. I like these kinds of nights. We swear to each other that we're only out for one beer a piece, but thirty minutes into our conversation, we're already ordering another round. And then another...and then another. Just the right amount of booze to lower our inhibitions enough to begin discussing the really GOOD stuff. But these are stories for another day.

At about eleven-thirty, Halitosis Jen walked in. I didn't even have to turn around. I KNEW she was right behind me. If she's within five feet of you, you can smell her. I'm not kidding, it's like something died in her mouth. It's that undeniably sour breath that implies a lifetime of alcohol abuse. Unfortunately, this isn't the worst of her traits. Not by a long shot.

H.J. is one of those sad, empty-shell people. You know the type of woman I'm referring to. There's at least one like her at every corner bar. On the surface she's the life of the party. She order shots for everyone, she dances even when there's no dance floor to speak of, she tells all the best raunchy jokes...she's the good-time girl. On the inside though, she's rotting. Wasting away from too much alcohol, too many cigarettes, too many drugs and one night stands. She hates herself, and it's evident to anyone around her that's willing to look further than her cleavage.

In the few years I've known H.J., I have personally borne witness to countless hook-ups. She's not picky. If you've got a warm body, you're pretty much fair game. The fact that a man has a girlfriend or a wife is of no consequence to her. There's no method to her madness. If you've paid attention to her for longer than five seconds, you're pretty much guaranteed, at the very least, a blow-job in the men's room.

What never ceases to amaze me about H.J. is the inevitable devastation she feels after one of her many encounters.

"Why doesn't he call me?" she asks, tears in her beer. "We had such a great time the other night."

What do you say to a person like this?

"Honey, the man is married. You've fucked nearly all of his friends. You're a drunk and a whore and you have horrible breath. What did you expect?"

But I can't say that to her. No one will EVER say that to her. Why? It's the age-old dilemma. If a train is about to crash, do you look, or do you turn away?

Everyone looks, and if they say they don't, they're lying.

Monday, November 21, 2005

What Goes Around, Comes Around

I've never believed that saying more than I do tonight. I've worked long and hard to get what I want, and I've done it with patience, persistence and most of all, a great deal of thoughtfulness. The truth is, when you do good, you get good, and honey, tonight I got GREAT.

I've been dealing with a difficult situation for weeks, and it nearly crushed me. If you read my last post, then you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, suffice it to say that I thought I lost something, and someone, very dear to me.

I misread all the signs and I took everything the wrong way. I was angry, and sometimes spiteful. Believe me, I had many a reason to behave that way. He was definitely no angel. But somewhere, in the midst of all that chaos, and with the help of a very good friend, the solution hit me. Just take a step back, inhale deeply, and look at it from his point of view.

As human beings, we're programmed to automatically go on the offensive when we think we're being attacked. In relationships, we think that we can maintain our sense pride by pretending to believe that it's "all their fault." We lay the blame squarely on their shoulders, because the thought that we may actually be the one in the wrong is more than we can bear. What we rarely do, however, is try to see ourselves through the other person's eyes.

I've learned that I have to recognize and acknowledge what I've done to upset him, and more importantly, the root of where his frustrations lie. We all bring tenebrous events from our past into our current relationships. They shape who we are, and they help us to decide who we will and will not love. So if we can learn to understand those issues, even if we don't necessarily agree with them, then we're capable of giving those we love the respect they so rightly deserve. Better yet, we get it back tenfold.

He and I still have a ways to go. There will always be something to work on. Getting to know the depth of someone's heart takes a lifetime, and I'm not so foolish to think there won't be bumps along the road. But what I do know is this...I love him, and I'll do whatever it takes to make him happy. And I feel like a better person for it.

Things are certainly looking up.

Sunday, November 20, 2005


Have you ever experienced something, something that bothers you for so long, that the "thing" takes on a life of it's own? You become almost obsessed, and you're certain that it will be your downfall. More important, you're sure it will cause you to lose the one thing you love more than anything you've ever cared about before.

You search for clues and you look for signs. You worry. You cry. You can't sleep. You can't eat. You get headaches. You feel queasy. You scream and yell. You argue. You become angry and irrational. You think, why? Why me? Everything used to be so perfect.

And one morning, you wake up sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. You resolve to never let it bother you again. You force yourself to push the thoughts out of your head. Days pass, and the hurt dissipates. It's still somewhere in the back of your mind now, but it's locked away, only rearing it's ugly head at those times when you're at your loneliest. But even then, it's never as bad as it was in the beginning, and you're better now.

Then, when you least expect it, fate throws you a curve ball. By mere chance, you learn something, and if you had know it all along, you'd never have been bothered in the first place. It's small. It's a word, or a photograph. It's truth. The truth for which you've been aching. And then, you realize it.

I didn't lose what I love after all.

Friday, November 18, 2005


Being newly single, I’ve recently decided to “get back in the saddle,” so to speak. I’ve met a multitude of men, and for the most part, I’ve been enjoying myself immensely. I’ve been off the market for some time, though, and I’d forgotten how many different kinds of men there are out there.

My last relationship was one of those long-distance numbers, only seeing one another a few times a month. Being away from him, and not wanting to be alone all the time, I tried to lead as normal of a social life as possible when I was home. I’m not going out any more now than I had during the eight months we were together. But now, when I’m out, it seems that the dynamics have shifted. I’m no longer thinking about conducting myself with the level of decorum appropriate for a “taken” woman.

It’s funny, actually. When you’re involved with someone you really care about, you practically walk around with blinders on. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone, but speaking for myself, George Clooney could have asked me out and I would have refused. Ridiculous, I know, but it’s the truth nonetheless. When I’m happy and in love, there is no one more important to me than the object of my affection. However, with all this newly-found time on my hands, I’ve begun noticing things, both subtle and glaringly obvious, about the men around me.

So, without further ado, here’s a list of some of my observations…

Type: Scruffster/Starving Artist
Neighborhood Most Likely to Reside In: Bucktown/Wicker Park
Defining Physical Characteristics: This guy has a penchant for the “just got out of bed” look. His hair is messy, he’s got a perpetual five o’clock shadow, and he’s usually way too thin. There’s usually the slightest smell of B.O. or patchouli trailing after him.
Typical Attire: Ripped white t-shirt, hooded zip-up sweatshirt, jeans or Dickie’s trousers, Van’s or Chuck Taylor shoes, and a big, over-the shoulder bag.
Defining Personality Characteristics: This guy is usually sweet, to the point of almost being romantic. He’s a good listener, and he cares deeply about what you’re feeling, as well as what’s going on in the world around him. He’s usually a bit shy, and his feelings can be hurt easily. Sometimes, a tortured soul (self-imposed.)
The Book That’s Always Next to the Toilet: Catcher in the Rye
Attracted To: Any woman that looks like Betty Page
Typical Career Choice: Bike messenger, Non-Profit Organization worker, Starbuck’s Barista
Can Be Found In: Goldstar, Danny’s Tavern
Datability Factor (1-10): 7. I’d like to go higher on this one, because they are usually just about the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. But their lack of ambition is usually a turn-off to me. However, every girl should have one of these guys as a “friend with benefits.”

Type: Meathead Jockstrap
Neighborhood Most Likely to Reside In: Wrigleyville, Lakeview
Defining Physical Characteristics: This kind of guy can actually be split up in to two categories. He’s either monstrously obese from all the chicken wings and beer he’s consumed, or he’s stocky, bulked up with too much muscle from incessantly lifting free weights.
Typical Attire: Favorite sports team jersey/shirt & baseball hat or visor. Cargo shorts. Either cross-trainers or Adidas flip-flops.
Defining Personality Characteristics: None, because he really doesn’t have one.
The Book That’s Always Next to the Toilet: If he reads, it’s Ditka: an Autobiography
Attracted To: Any woman who can tell him Corey Patterson’s batting average.
Typical Career Choice: Construction
Can Be Found In: Cubby Bear, Hi-Top’s or Yakzie’s
Datability Factor (1-10): 1. These guys are fun if you’re going to a ball game, but that’s about it. Unless you have a desire to get beer spilled on you, never have sex because of constant whiskey-dick and clean up vomit, this guy should be avoided at all costs.

Type: Southside Joey
Neighborhood Most Likely to Reside In: Bridgeport
Defining Physical Characteristics: He’s Italian, through and through. Dark hair, dark eyes. Usually well-built, because he’s used to a hard day’s work.
Typical Attire: Right now? Anything displaying the White Sox logo, and he usually wears a large gold necklace.
Defining Personality Characteristics: Loud and boisterous, this guy is all about having a good time. He tends to have a quick temper, though, and gets in to fights easily. He’s also extremely loyal to his friends and family.
The Book That’s Always Next to the Toilet: Sinatra: the Life
Attracted To: Loud, boisterous Italian girls – preferably already the mother of one or two kids.
Typical Career Choice: Illinois Department of Transportation Highway worker.
Can Be Found In: 35th Street Tap
Datability Factor (1-10): 5. These guys are nothing if not loyal. They’ll treat you like a princess if you don’t piss them off. However, the poor grammar (i.e.: Dees, dem & dohs, or one, two, tree), coupled with a lower I.Q. can be a deal breaker.

Type: Western Suburban Wannabe
Neighborhood Most Likely to Reside In: Schaumburg
Defining Physical Characteristics: Well groomed, in fact, overly-groomed. He looks like he walked straight out of an episode of “Growing up Gotti.” Waxed, spiky hair & a perma-tan.
Typical Attire: Collared shirt, untucked with large, unbuttoned cuffs. Tailored blue jeans, and black, expensive loafers. Rolex is optional.
Defining Personality Characteristics: This guy is shallow. He only cares about two things: himself, and banging broads. He gets in to a fight outside of a bar every weekend, usually because, “He fucked wit my boy, yo.”
The Book That’s Always Next to the Toilet: No book, just numerous back-issues of Penthouse
Attracted To: Anything blonde, big-breasted and dumb as a box of rocks.
Typical Career Choice: Mobile Phone Sales
Can Be Found In: Excalibur, or any place on Division Street.
Datability Factor (1-10): 0. Do I really need to explain this one?

These guys are just a few examples of what I’ve witnessed so far. If you don’t see your type here, don’t fret, because there will be more to come. After all, I just got back out there! Give me a little more time.

Of course, not every man fits in to one of these categories. There are, without a doubt, some wonderful, intelligent and interesting guys in this city. And when all is said and done, I still love ‘em all.

Well, maybe not all of them...

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Throwing the Baby Out with the Bath Water

For being a relatively new blogger, I've already received a truckload of e-mails regarding a few of my posts. While it's really nice to know that people are actually reading my drivel, It's slightly disconcerting that so many of them, without REALLY knowing me, felt the need to offer their counsel. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE comments and e-mails, but could you all lighten up on the advice? I may be a head case some times, but really, I'm alright. Besides, I'm on my meds now, so no worries. Let's all try sticking to funny and thoughtful comments, and do away with the psychotherapy. Oh, and EZ, your disgusting displays of misogyny & perversion are welcome as well.

That said, if you've been to my blog before, you might have noticed that a few things are missing. First, I've done away with some of the posts. I re-read a few of my entries, and found them either too mean, or too maudlin. That's not what I'm going for, and it's definitely not why I started blogging to begin with. Second, I got rid of the "thigh-high" picture, and that's mainly for my own personal safety. There are a surprising number of freaks out there, and apparently, they all found my blog. So, to Bobby from Oklahoma, thank you so much for your offer, but S&M just isn't my thing.

So there you have it. A new beginning for Bated Breath. I just hope I get it right this time.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

And I Thought I Had Some Bad Relationships...

I will never, ever, EVER bitch about a boyfriend again, because I guess it could ALWAYS be worse. Read this & you'll see why:

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


I'm worried. I just had this e-mail exchange with my mother...

Me: As for dad, I'm sorry he's behaving like such a shit. I hope it gets better.

Mom: thanks for the wishes - it is what it is..I signed on for better or worse. Had lots of better - now it's the "worse" part. The hard thing is that I know it's depression from the MS - I've finally learned to bite my tongue (believe it or not!). I continually tell him that I refuse to argue/fight with him. Hard to carry on a one-sided fight....

Me: I know you signed on for it, and it's admirable. However, I can't imagine how hard it is for you. He loves you, though, and that's the most important thing.

Mom: you got that right

My parents amaze me. 35 years and counting, and they still love the hell out of each other. I have always maintained that if, in my life, I have just one quarter of the happiness and love they've shared, then I'll be a very lucky, happy person.

My dad is not well. It's funny, because Multiple Sclerosis isn't thought of as a "terminal" disease like, say, cancer is. Sure, you don't technically DIE from MS. You die from pneumonia, or because your heart shuts down. You die because every one of your bodily functions forsakes you. Want to walk somewhere? Forget it, buddy. Your legs aren't going anywhere. Feel like having a conversation? Oh, shit, that's right, your mouth won't move! Gotta take a leak? Good luck getting to the bathroom on time.

Thankfully, my father isn't at that point just yet. He's in a lot of pain, but he has his good days, too. Unfortunately, though, they seem to be fewer and farther in between these days. I've reconciled myself to the fact that I will lose him someday. I'm not trying to be morose, but I've been lucky in life to have a father who loves me so much. I can handle the bad, because I've had so much good.

What I can't stop thinking about though, is my mom. I cannot imagine what it's like to watch the person you've loved for over three decades slowly waste away. When you love someone as much as she loves him, it must be devastating to want to take his pain away, but know full well she can't. She's a brave woman, and I hope that one day I'll be as strong as her. But, at night, when it's quiet, and my father is asleep, what thoughts must be running through her head?

I want to hold her and tell her everything will be ok. I want her to know that she can count on me for support. I want to take her pain away from her, but I know I can't.

I love her that much.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Drink Your Beer, Smoke Your Cigarette and Shut the Fuck Up

Lemme ask you something. What in the hell do you think you're doing? You are, of course, aware that your wife and I are friends, right?

Why, in God's name, do feel it necessary to tell me these things? It's bad enough that I catch you staring all the time. EVERYONE catches you staring. It's sick, and it creeps me out. Knock it off.

For the record, I do not feel a special bond with you. I don't care if you feel that the life you were supposed to lead has passed you by. The fact that you think you married the wrong woman is of no consequence to me, other than it makes me certain that marrying you was the dumbest thing she's ever done.

What, for one second, ever made you think that I would be interested in you? I'm not that kind of girl, and I never, ever will be. Screwing around with my friend's husband is about as appealing to me as a plantar's wart.

You're lucky. The only reason I haven't told her is because I know it may kill her. She loves you so much, you dickhead. She couldn't handle finding out what a scumbag you really are.

So, please, give it up. It's not going to happen. Stop putting your hand on my knee when you think no one's looking. Stop coming up to me to give me one of those "friendly" hugs. Stop whispering "you are so beautiful" in my ear. Enough.

Drink your beer, smoke your cigarette, shut the fuck up...and leave me the hell alone.

Sunday, November 13, 2005


I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. I'm not sure if there ever was - or ever will be - a time when all of my senses were so alive. I have dreams about it still.

It was a chilly night, but we didn't care. We were on my patio, I on one chair, and you on another just a foot or so away. The street was unusually quiet. It was almost as if my neighbors knew what was about to happen, all inside their homes to give us the privacy we needed.

I lit the candles and turned on some music. We talked and drank, and smoked cigarettes for what felt like hours. I remember having two very distinct thoughts. First, I was certain that you were too good to be true, and second, I knew that your kiss would be the one that I would judge all others by for the rest of my life.

You moved your chair closer, and I rested my legs on your lap. You told me a joke, and I closed my eyes and laughed. When I opened them, you were no more than an inch from my lips. I saw your eyes, and they were looking directly at mine. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. You put your left hand on my cheek and pulled me to you. I was shaking. Tingling.

I tasted the beer and the sweet tobacco, and I felt the cool air on your lips. I could hear the leaves rustling on the trees and a siren somewhere off in the distance. I smelled the vanilla from the candles. I was hyper-aware of everything around me, and yet I was lost in that one perfect moment. Even today, every once in a while, I can still taste you on my lips. And then I go back to those two thoughts that I remember so clearly...

I was never more right in my life.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Drink Porn - The Party Game

This is for my new friend, EazyDoesIt...

After posting a few comments on Eazy's site,, I began to think about all the good times my friends and I have had over the years playing Drink Porn. And then it struck me...I should teach everyone how to play! The world would be a much happier place, for certain. I mean, really, porn can be fun for everyone.

There really are no "rules" to the game, per se, but I will give you a few guidelines. Feel free to create your own as well.

When any of the scenarios listed below takes place, take the appropriate number of drinks. It goes something like this:

Female's fake breasts remain firmly pointing upwards while laying on her back = 1 drink
Female looks up sexily at male while giving a blowjob = 1 drink
Male grabs back of female's head & pulls hair WHILE female looks up sexily while giving a blowjob = 2 drinks
Female using a dildo with another female = 1 drink
2 Females using a double dildo = 4 drinks

And the list goes on and on.

There are no winners or losers in this game. That's the beauty of it. I mean, how can anyone lose when they combine booze & porn?

Oh, and by the way, a great way to determine who should buy the alcohol for the next Drink Porn party is to have everyone do the following:

At the beginning of the evening, have everyone write down the order of sexual encounters in the video you're all about to watch, ie: boy/girl, boy/girl, girl/girl, boy/boy/girl.

The person who is furthest from the actual order buys the liquor.

Happy drinking, everyone!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Under Cover

You didn't know I was watching you this morning, but I was. I pretend to be asleep, but that was only so you didn't feel self conscious. Actually, I do it quite often.

I like the way you look when you wake up. I love your shoulders, the strength in your back - even the slowly developing extra bit of skin around your waistline, just above the top of your boxers, is enough to turn me on. You're all man, and I can't get enough of it.

I can see everything from the reflection in the mirror. I watch you shave, towel around your waist, and I pretend it's me touching your face instead of your razor. I have to stifle a giggle when I see you check your hairline. It's not going anywhere soon, baby. Don't worry.

When you come back in the bedroom, I close my eyes, but I can smell you. That wonderful mix of soap and's all I can do not to reach up and bring you back to bed. And when you get dressed, well, that's my favorite part. Your back is to me so I can open my eyes again. First your pants, then your shirt and then your tie. I can't help but think, "thank God he's mine."

Then, after a gentle kiss goodbye, you're gone.

I can't wait until tomorrow morning.

I Love You So Much...Laura (Finale)

"I love you's" exchanged, lives intertwined and futures planned, I was happier than I'd ever been. I spent my weekdays daydreaming, and my weekends with Pete and my new circle of friends. I helped him pick things out for his home, he made me breakfast in bed. I'd make dinner, and then we'd join everyone afterwards for cocktails. We'd make love all night on Friday, and sometimes, all day on Saturday. I can't tell you how fulfilled I was, and I was certain he felt the same. Then, three months further in to it, the rug was pulled out from under me.

We'd had a perfect evening that Friday night, and we were topping it off with another marathon round in bed. When we'd finished, he propped himself up on one elbow, leaned over, kissed me on my forehead and said, "I love you so much...Laura." Now normally, this would make any woman smile, except for the fact that my name isn't Laura. The only Laura I could think of was his friend, the nurse. "Oh, Jesus, no," I thought to myself. "They're just good friends. She's MY friend!"

At that moment, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I shot straight up out of bed, ran to the bathroom and threw up. Pete ran after me, begging and pleading. "Baby, listen! It was a mistake. A slip of the tongue. I didn't mean it! Please come out of there!" But I couldn't, because deep down, I knew it was true. I don't know how, but I did.

I slept on the cold bathroom tile that night, and in the morning, I called a taxi to take me to the train station. Pete didn't try to stop me. I cried all the way home, and for the next four days straight. On the fifth day, he called me.

"I don't know what to say, Trix. I'm an asshole. I don't know how it happened, but it did, and I'm in love with the both of you. I just don't know what to do."

"Babe, let me make it easy on you, " I said, and then I hung up.

That was the last time we ever spoke.

Some fucking fairy tale, huh?

Wednesday, November 09, 2005


I was stuck, no doubt about that. The damn thing wouldn't turn. I sat there, feeling helpless, nearly in tears. I had been in that stupid parking lot for nearly an hour now, staring at the freaking Old Navy in front of me, praying to whoever was listening that this was only a temporary problem.

I tried everything I could think of. I turned the wheel, I jiggled the key, I turned the wheel while I jiggled the key and I beat the hell out of the steering column. Nothing. The jackass in the H2 next to me just laughed at me and pulled away. Thanks for the help, asshole. I hope you filled your tank up today, and I hope it cost you two hundred bucks, dick.

I called all my friends. No answer. I called AAA. At least a two hour wait until a tow truck could make it. Damnit. I was really screwed. One thought kept popping up in my head. "If I had a boyfriend right now, he'd know what to do."

I turned the key one last time, hopelessly. Desperately.

Guess I didn't need that boyfriend after all.

I Love You So Much...Laura (Part Two)

Two weeks of multiple daily emails turned in to two weeks of multiple daily phone calls. I was, for lack of a better descriptor, floating on cloud nine, and then one day, it happened. Pete asked me to visit him. That's when I came crashing back down to earth. What if he didn't find me attractive anymore? Nine years had passed, for Chrissakes. What if we had nothing to talk about in person? What if he gained fifty pounds and lost all of his hair? Should I risk it? In the end, I decided to suck it up, and I said "What the hell. Why not?"

Since graduating college, Pete had moved to a tiny town in southern Illinois. He'd taken a job in community development and quickly became a big fish in a very small pond. He had made a handful of close friends, enjoyed his career immensely, and decided to make his home in "Smallville." He wanted me to see what kind of life he had made for himself. So, I boarded the Amtrak and made the four hour journey from Chicago.

I was nervous on the train, so I spent most of my time in the bar car. When I wasn't downing Heinekens, I was in the bathroom applying and re-applying my makeup. When we were allowed to hop off & stretch our legs, I chain-smoked three cigarettes in five minutes. I was sure I was making a huge mistake.

When my stop came, I nearly puked, and I was barely able to walk. I managed to get off the train, and I made the long walk up to the station. When I got to the entry door, I only had to look around for a few seconds. There he was, right in front of me - my big high school crush - and he was grinning from ear-to-ear at ME.

It was all cliche romance movie moments from that point forward...

He ran towards her, arms open for the impending embrace. She drops her luggage and throws her arms around his neck. Instinctively, one of her leg lifts, bent at the knee behind her, shoe dangling from her toe...

We spent a wonderful weekend together. Correction, we spent several months of wonderful weekends together. I met all of his friends at the Bearclaw Lounge that first night, and I'd never felt so welcome. Kevin & Jess, who have since married, Tubs, the bartender, Laura, the nurse and many, many more. Pete showered me with attention and allowed me in to every aspect of his life. And the sex? Don't get me started. I was one happy, happy girl.

As I spent more time in Pete's town, Laura and I, in particular, became very close. She was sweet and funny, and so similar to me in tastes and personality that I was certain she and I were practically soul mates. Pete thought so highly of her, and he was constantly trying to set her up with his friends and business associates.

I saw a future for the first time in a very long time. A home, good friends, dinner parties, and hell, maybe even a few kids. My life, it seemed, had finally started to fall in to place. And then, Pete said 3 more perfect words:

"I love you."

Tuesday, November 08, 2005


You just left for the airport an hour ago. Where was it you were off to? New York? Philly? I forget. It's 5 o'clock in the morning and I'm much too foggy to think clearly. But I roll over, and there you are. Not in the physical sense, mind you. It's on my pillow case and in my hair. It's on your favorite football t-shirt that I'm sleeping in this very minute. It's on my skin. I can smell you. That combination of soap, cologne and yes, even perspiration that makes you uniquely you.

It's that little part of you that I get to keep until you come home. It makes your leaving just a bit more bearable. So tonight, I'm going to jump in to bed, sheets unwashed, football t-shirt on, and wrap myself up in you.

I told you you'd never get that shirt back.

I Love You So Much...Laura (Part One)

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Peter. He grew up in my neighborhood, and I worshipped the ground he walked on. He was smart, funny, charming, and looked amazing in his Umbros. He was 16, and aside from his large nose, I thought he was perfect. Besides, his nose gave him character. But, alas, Peter and I were not to be. At least, not in high school.

Flash forward nine years. I had grown out of my gawky stage, no longer 5'7" and flat as a board. I was a woman now. I had curves...and the fact that the braces were off didn't hurt either. One day, I ran in to an old classmate from high school.

"Oh my GOD, Trix, how are you?!?"

"Great, Janel. What's new with you?"

"Blah, blah, blah. Kids are driving me crazy. Blah, blah, blah. I left Tom."

"Wow, I had no idea. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, don't worry. Things are much better now. So have you talked to anyone recently?"

"No, not really. You?"

"Well, I signed up at, & I've caught up with so many old friends!"

After another ten minutes of mind-numbing conversation, Janel & I went our separate ways, and I was never more certain that getting out of the burbs was the best decision I had ever made. I was curious, though, to see what some of my old classmates were up to. Call me wicked, but I really wanted to know if Dee ended up marrying Bill, and if Todd finally admitted he was gay. So, needless to say, I signed up.

Not one day had gone by when I got an email...from Pete. There it was, that old feeling. My heart was beating out of my chest and I could barely breathe. Beads of sweat immediately formed on my forehead. I clicked on his message, certain I would get no more than, "Hey there! Glad you signed up. Hope you're well. You going to the reunion?" Instead, what stared back at me from my screen were these 9 perfect words:

"You know, I always had a crush on you."

Monday, November 07, 2005

Me...On Me.

I'm not quite sure why I've decided to do this blogging thing. I've tried - and failed - to keep a journal more times than I care to remember. It seemed silly to write something down, knowing I'd be the only one to read it. But that's not the case in the blog world, right? I guess this is my opportunity to share a just little bit of my world with you. Then again, this could turn in to a huge disaster and blow up in my face. Maybe, in the end, I'll still be the only one to read it. I suppose only time will tell.

About me...

Where to begin? I'm in my early 30's. I don't have any major wrinkles to speak of yet, and I've only found one gray hair so far. Judging by the amount of "offers" I get, I'm pretty sure that I'm attractive. I'm a thru-and-thru south sider, with all the requisite neuroses. I'm normal, or at least, as much as any person can be. I've got a crazy family that I love, even when I want to kill them. I've got a great job - well, two great jobs to be exact.

I don't live a life of excess, unless you count drinking multiple pints of Magner's every now and again. I don't hang out in nightclubs. I'd rather hang out at a dive, bellied up to the bar. I have close friends that I love and support, and that do the same for me. I've also got a great apartment, complete with two fat, cranky cats and, thank God, an amazing parking spot.

I've traveled across most of the U.S., and parts of the Caribbean and Europe. I've seen and done things that most people never get to do in a lifetime. I love to read, and I'm genuinely interested in learning everything I can about almost anything.

Like I said before, I'm normal. I like to keep things simple. Just your average, whitebread girl, living a pretty good life. Just what then, you may ask, is missing? It's the age-old dilemma, isn't it? Of course, the answer is love.

I have most certainly fallen in love before, and I've definitely fallen out of love. I've had good and bad relationships. I've been the destroyee as much as I've been the destroyer. I've fucked things up royally, and I've also been fucked over. You know the saying, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?" Call me Xena, princess warrior.

So, this blog will be filled with my stories. Some past, some present, some funny and some sad. It's my journal of my search for that one person that I actually WANT to drive me crazy for the rest of my life. Like I said before, it may blow up in my face, but I'm willing to take that chance. Wish me luck.