Monday, September 15, 2008

reality's cruel trick

I am sad. I have nothing truly to be sad about. I’m healthy; my kids are smart & healthy. I’m lonely. I’m surrounded by loving friends & family. I’m out of control; but I’m in control. I’m tired. I get plenty of sleep. I’m bored. I spend my days doing basically whatever I want.

I didn’t shower for four days. I didn’t shave my armpits for close to two weeks. Gross, I know, but that’s how it was. The hairs in my armpits (armpips if you ask my 9 year old daughter) where so terribly long that I had to sleep with my blanket tucked into my armpits as protection from the stubble. I don’t think it would even qualify as stubble, it was a lil past that stage.

I read books all day long until time to pick the kids up. Then we would go on bike rides, just to make sure my blood still circulated, and to keep the kids busy.

I’ve been picking random books to expand my knowledge & pique my interests. I used to think that the type of books you picked out & read meant something about the person you were. As if your subconscious led you to the path you should be on by opening it to you in a book.

Ironically, the last two books I’ve read were “The Screwed Up Life of Charlie the Second” & “Vital Ties” – just random books I’ve caught glimpse of while perusing the library. The first is about a juvenile’s trip through his senior year & being gay. The second was a novel covering the life a women owning her own farm in the 1950’s thru the 1980’s - and being a lesbian.

Is my subconscious trying to tell me something???

Anyway, I’ve been showering & shaving my armpits. So I guess it’s all good. For now.

the good stuff

As we’ve already established on numerous occasions – I was a big time loser. Still am, but at least I accept myself as I am now. I hide from no one.

This past weekend April & I were out & about in the Fort Wayne local music scene. Randomly, a chick walked past our table. Not that either April or I spend our time looking at chicks, but we do both happen to have this odd thing about attention to detail. Stupid details even. Her tag was sticking up. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I didn’t know this about April, but apparently it’s one of hers as well.

Normally I’m a do-gooder that would just say, “hey you, hang on, your tag is sticking up”. This particular chick had her own nose so far in the air in her “holier-than-though” airs that I felt a lil relieved to know she wasn’t SOOOO perfect. I let her continue by without saying a word to her. April turns to me saying, “I wanted to fix her tag …” before she could finish I was giggling to myself. We had saw the same thing, and thought the same thing. In essence, made the same judgment.

The woman was oblivious to our laughter. It reminded me of a lil gag I used to pull in high school. Throughout my freshman year I became more & more social; growing out of my protective shell & actually experiencing life. By my sophomore year I had concocted THE FRIEND TEST.

I’m a fruit eater. Fresh fruit, preferably, which always comes with stickers. Chiquita stickers J I had a silly habit of peeling the sticker & placing it on the back of my shirt, as a lil prank on myself. If someone happened by & I saw them laughing at me, then I knew that person would never be friend quality. The people who told me about it or offered to remove it for me, those people were friend quality. I continued this game off & on throughout the years. It’s stupid, I know, but in high school you really need all the free entertainment you can get, right?

Welcome to my psyche.

Somewhere around junior year, my friend Pam & I were at a basketball game. JV girls were playing & Pamy & I were waiting for our Varsity team to get the signal that it was time to change into our uniforms. It was standard for the Varsity team to be pressed & dressed during the JV game and vice versa. So here we sit, wearing khakis & our embroidered CN Varsity basketball shirts.

Pam wasn’t in a very good mood that day. While at that time, I probably knew exactly what was causing her foul mood; I have since forgotten that useless piece of information. What I do recall is this: my best friend was sad. It was a sadness I couldn’t break through by smiling, laughing, joking or any other means. I was at my wit’s end. As my mind churned, I absently chewed on a piece of licorice.

I sometimes, well, usually, do things without actually letting the thought process run its full course. You know, leap before looking… I don’t do so well on that end of the thinking spectrum. Don’t even ask me how this next move ever entertained itself as an idea in my head. I will never have an answer for that!

I pulled the chewed up garbled mess of licorice out of my mouth & laid it on her leg. Her clean, pressed, khakis. Straight from my mouth, slobbery drool & all. I need to ride the short bus.

It was a flurry of reactions as she went from grossed out (who wouldn’t be), to pissed about what her mom would say about the stain on her pants (yeah, I could see that one too), and finally to just sheer laughter. She looked at me and told me that’s why she liked being friends with me. I was unconventional. I knew how to cheer her up at any cost. Yeah, I like being a dork. It’s so much easier than actually worrying about what other ppl think of you.

No worries though. That was an extreme situation. I normally keep my chewed up food in my mouth.

But don’t tempt me.

my dirty lil secret

I was thinking about this the other day after a conversation w/a friend. She said to me, something along the lines of, “Do you remember the time in high school that you tried to explain to me how you felt it was safer to stand back from life & watch it, rather than try to live it, so as not to ruin it? You know, how you had that enormous crush but would never dare to make it REAL” … I knew exactly what she was talking about.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. Really. It’s not a “this one time, at band camp”… but I am going to start out in grade school.

I was quiet. Nerdy. Ashamed of myself. Usually dirty; clothes, hair, skin. My then step-father had a thing about using too much water, even though we lived on a farm & had well water. Showers were limited to a weekly basis, instead of a daily basis. The laundry rarely got washed, because it too obviously used this “precious water”. Let me tell you, living on a farm did NOT provide for a wear-your-pants-multiple-times-between-washes atmosphere. Pretty much, as soon as you walked out of the house, you were dirty. Especially since we lived on a pig farm & I rode horses daily. This kind of crap didn’t go so well with the other kids at school. I was an outcast. I accepted it & never tried to change my “place” in life – always hiding in corners & being as unseen as possible.

When I was 13 my mom & step-dad split. We moved to a much smaller house on a few acres, still out in the country of course. I moved to a new school to start my high school days. I knew very few people in the entire school, so it was my chance to start over. And shower daily, by the way.

I made a few close friends in my first few months at CN; friends that still stand by my side to this day. By winter months I had come out of my shell enough to even try out for the school basketball team.

One of the few people I did happen to know prior to starting at CN was Randy. Let me rephrase that, “know” doesn’t exactly fit the bill here. I was captivated by him. He only knew I existed, and probably only ever viewed me as a pain in the whoo hoo. My mom was friends with his parents & had been for as long as I could remember. I held onto that child-like crush for years, and then suddenly I was attending the same school as him, even if only for his senior year.

I would sneak off during lunch to see him play basketball with his friends in the gym. My friends thought I was nuts. Maybe they were clued into something, even back then! J I would never breach the unspoken barrier between us. To attempt to make myself known to him was an open door for failure. No thanks.

When my mother would visit his parents, I would wait in the car, sometimes for hours, just to avoid the possibility that my dream would be ruined with reality. That he would laugh at me, or tell me to stop following him, or stop watching him. Luckily for me, he was quite on the shy side himself & never went out of his way to chastise me for being a silly young girl. He knew though. Our parents teased me about it.

I continued throughout the school year, watching from afar. Always trying to hide & seem unnoticeable. Threatening any of my friends that suggested I actually talk to him, or offer to talk to him for me. In my head, our relationship was perfect. Fairy tale. In real life, it was non-existent. I would never make a move that would jeopardize that non-existence. To me, it was more acceptable to fail at something knowing it never had the chance, than to fail at trying. Why take away that magical feeling? Ruin it with reality? It was easier to wish & dream than it would ever be to attempt to live in reality.

I wish I was still dreaming.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

everyone loves hate mail

Welcome to my world!! This is the message sent to me by Mrs. Holly (Piper) Cambell this morning. She then called me, TWICE, and left a silly voice mail that she thought would intimidate me. Ha ha ha ha! I laugh! She obviously STILL doesn't understand who she's dealing with. Like I won't walk around w/a little egg on my face just to keep a permanant reminder open for her & the rest of the world to see how truly idiotic she is being. As many of you KNOW Jere for his TRUE self, this letter will be very entertaining. I am not afraid to open myself to the world. GOOD & BAD.

A tad background information: Holly was Jere's girlfriend before he moved to IN from NY. Now she feels her life is so upsetting that she must contact "old loves" (don't we all know how that one goes) to appologize for being a bitch in her teenage years. Ummm, hello? Jeremiah has fed her his usual stories of pity & she immediately takes bait. She has very little clue as to what is REALLY going on here, and it shows. Her accusations are so far off base, it's worth a good laugh.

Jeremiah is mad at me because I won't give him one more chance so he's feeding Holly more & more lies by the moment. Yes, I have issues. So does the rest of the world. It's nothing new.

Take a deep breath; you'll be trying to catch it after you read this shit!

unedited FROM HOLLY:

MY laptop is out of state getting fixed I am not welfare trash that has to go to the library to access the computer to try to validate her evil doings. I have two computers one of which is my children's yes my children have their own computer in their own room in a house that we own! And hey yea I have a van that has a CD player in it that is not hard wired to my cars battery! How about that one! Do you really think that Jen is not going to show me these messages or even the texts that you are sending her Come on get with it girl pull your head out of your fucking big ass and grow the fuck up! I am part of Jere's life and always will be to an certain extent sorry if you don't like it but OH THE FUCK WELL! I DO NOT WANT HIM! I DO NOT WANT THIS TRASHY DRAMA! I DONT NEED IT! SO KEEP IT UP SO JEN AND I CAN SIT BACK AND HAVE A BIG LAUGH AT YOUR EXPENCE! Thanks for the free freak show it has been very amusing so far cant wait to see what the next chapter holds. Jen and I have a bet that it includes another child coming out of the wood work :)HAVE A GREAT DAY AND ALSO WHILE YOU ARE AT THE LIBRARY ACESSING YOUR MYSPACE ACCOUNT YOU MAY WANT TO CHECK OUT THE BOOK "MAKING LOVE LAST FOREVER" BT GARY SMALLEY, IT MAY GIVE YOU A CLUE!HUG AND KISSES HOLLY :)


Now my comments. First of all, her grammar & spelling are pathetic. I am not on ANY sort of welfare. I am currently tying on my laptop & I also have a home PC, both of which I maintain & fix myself. I take my children to the library on a weekly basis to enrich their lives with learning. I've owned TWO houses, at the same time, which I bought with my own money, not my husband's, boyfriend's, or any family member's. I currently RENT because I'm leaving the area!! DUH! I pay for more than just my own bills, without having a husband/boyfriend pay anything for me. While she is driving around upstate NY in her van I prefer to be healthy & ride my bike. My car is a piece of crap because I don't really give a shit about having a new one. I'm not materialistic like that. The radio/cd player WAS hardwired to the battery because my dumb ass ex husband wanted to suck up & put a new one in it but he didn't know how to do it the CORRECT way.

My big ass? Yeah, and then what? Seriously a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like that reality is really going to hurt my feelings. And dear friend JEN keeps texting & calling me. Act like I don't know what's going on here. I'm an old pro at Jeremiah's games. She not the first tramp to text me, call me, or even email me. I was fully aware Jen would show Holly my messages, that's why I sent them to her!! It was Holly who became upset about the deal, sending me this msg & leaving nasty msgs on my voicemail.

And for someone who doesn't "want" Jere, she might want to reread all her messages to him over the last three weeks. According to Holly, Jere is the hottest man alive & she can't figure out why she doesn't love her HUSBAND like she "loves" Jeremiah. Ah, my dear woman, one day you will see the truth & feel as foolish as you sound right now.

Darling, wake up. It's not just you and Jen getting a good laugh. Thinking that you are anything at all to this man, or EVER WERE, now that's the laugh.

I don't need to check out any books on making love work. But for someone who's on the verge of filing for a divorce, I guess she would know which way to point me, huh? YOWZA!

I'm the freak show? LOL, whatevs. I only hope her children are greatful for the ammenties they have in their lives & don't grow into the monsterous bitch that she is currently exemplifying.

Oh looky there, I think I found my little feeling that was hurt. No wait, this is me, living in reality.

Keep barking bitch. You're at the wrong tree.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

the wrong way

“Happy are you sad? Wanna shoot your dad? I’ll do anything you want. It was the wrong way.” Sublime

Ah, where have I been? The stories I could tell. But nay. I’ll leave the past where it belongs. As many of us should do, but all too often, don’t.

I’ve been doing a lot of bike riding lately, even though my box truck incident nearly cut my life expectancy short. I have a new bike by the way. It’s exactly the same as the old one, only it hasn’t tried to feed me to a moving vehicle. I think we’ll get along great, this bike & I. The evil bike spell has apparently been shuttered over to my daughter’s bike, as she cannot seem to stay upright on hers – and to my ex-husband’s bike, as it fully devoured his leg today.

I must say, it was a humorous sight to see! Even witnessing the whole incident from a mere 5 or 6 feet, I’m not sure exactly how it happened, only this:

Our oldest son lives completely in his own little bubble, oblivious to the entire world surrounding him. More so than most 8 year olds. He tends to weave vicariously around the road, sidewalk, or bike path no matter who else is riding alongside or behind him. Dad’s attempt to miss his rear wheel quickly turned into a bike gobbling session, of which dad’s leg became the loser.

I swear, the bike ate his lower leg! It was a contortionist movement that left Jere on the ground in disbelief, as he thinks he is invincible & “King of all things – including bicycles!” I, always being in the mood for a good hearty laugh, did just that – giggled in delight. Until I saw the blood spot on Jere’s sock & the ashen look on his face.

Crap. I can see what’s coming next. The pleading eyes. The helpless, pity look. He was going to nurse this one all the way to the bank. Or at least to the emergency room, since the bank doesn’t really give a shit about a nickel sized superficial wound on a grown man’s ankle.

He was ready for an ambulance. I was ready to leave him @ the park for the vultures. Unfortunately, the kids had both witnessed the aftermath of his crash so I couldn’t just leave him there for the homeless to pick apart. Damn the bad luck.

You seriously would’ve thought this man’s leg had just been blown apart by a land mine. By talking to him, that is. By looking actually looking at the “wound,” you’d think he was a nut case for making such a big deal out a little nick & scrape. Well, the nut case part is debatable. I’m hoping that our two levels of nut case cancelled each other out in our children’s DNA – otherwise, their screwed. But so far so good!

I left him at the park with the kids & started on my way home to get his truck. We had rode our bikes nearly 5 miles & I was supposed to pedal my hefty ass back as fast as possible to retrieve his precious truck & take him in for medical care. Amputate just below the head! Oooops, did I saw that out loud? My bad.

I intended on dropping him off & taking the kids home. Sure, I’d go pick him up & drop him off at his house when he was done. Change my life with good intentions. You should’ve seen the look of horror he gave me when I told him I would drop him off. “You’re not going to stay with me?” It’s Labor Day weekend, beautiful weather, yet I have to baby-sit a grown man convinced his life is ending because his foot hurts.

I could’ve more easily dropped a 5 year old off in a Nazi camp. Amazing. The pre-teen kid in the emergency room line ahead of us had a screw sticking out of his knee. Let me repeat. A SCREW STICKING OUT OF HIS KNEE. Yes, I can see how that is an emergency. And here I stand next to Jere, in a wheelchair, barely a drop of blood running down his ankle, and he thinks he’s dying. The guy behind the desk had to ask twice what was wrong with him.

The nurse tried to wash his foot & he made such a big fuss over the pain that he was in that she said she would wait until the Dr came in to numb it. He nearly fell out of the bed when he realized the Dr would use a needle to administer the lidocaine. The nurse adeptly looked back at him and said, “how many tattoos do you have?” He skillfully responded, “Yes, but I was lit up when I got each of them!”


Next comes the Dr asking routine questions. Last Tetanus shot? Ever had surgery or stitches? Any staff infections? You are NOT going to believe this answer… Jere honestly looks at the Dr and says, “Yes, when I had my hand operated on several years ago, I had a staff infection. I tried to figure out where the smell was coming from & thought it was just my feet” – as the Dr is holding his bare foot to check it over.

I died.

You don’t know your hand is infected because your feet smell so bad? And being around him when he takes his shoes off – I can totally see where that discrepancy could come from.

After the Dr’s exam, he instructed me to wash the remaining dried blood off the bottom of Jere’s foot. Knowing how much he HATES to have his feet touched and how he was fully convinced that his foot hurt SOOO badly, I jumped at the opportunity. Should’ve let the nurse do it! He was too afraid to tell the Dr that I was being rough & simply glared at me while gritting his teeth. Wuss.

I also took the liberty to poke at the road rash on his knee. The intern who was in the room when I did so looked at me with eyes his wide & said I was cruel.

Oh honey, you have no idea

the talk

My daughter is 9. Well, 9 and one quarter. Eons away from her teenage years. Or so her father & I would love to believe. This past summer she has put on some pudgy weight. Nothing major, but noticeable enough. A good growth spurt will kick her right through it. However, she is “developing” in some areas that we are NOT ready to deal with. I wish I were only talking about her mouth & attitude! The school shopping this year included a small array of camisoles, under tanks, and yes, a few bras.

She has been intensely cranky, irritable, and tired as of late. I had discussed this change in her attitude & body to a few close friends when one mentioned “the change”. Nope. No way. She’s too young. Besides, her father won’t allow it. That is exactly what he said when I mentioned the possibility to him the next day.

The following day after the discussion with him, he suggested I go to the library & get a few books for her to read. I replied that the kids each picked out two books a week. No, he says, not those kinds of books. The “change” kinds of books, with pictures.

Oh hell no. I may have never gotten the speech myself, and I may not be up for the parent of the year award, but my daughter is not just going to be handed a “book for further reading”. I told him I would have the talk.

A few days later we decided the talk would be best carried out if he took our son in one direction & I took our daughter in another during our evening bike ride. She immediately wants to know why her daddy was “sad looking” when we parted ways. “Because we have to talk about you growing up & daddy just doesn’t want you to grow up. He likes you to be his little girl”

“Oh” she says, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

So I started with, “Do you know what kind of changes your body goes through as you get older?” Just to feel out how much knowledge she had (school & friends – you never know what your child really knows!). She said yes, she knew. So I asked her to explain it to me.

“You get taller and fatter & your feet get big.”

It took a minute for me to get over that one. So the next question was, “What differences do you see between my body & yours, beside me being bigger?” “You have boobs.” Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. I explained the basics of hormones & the wondrous shit us women have to put up with. No, I wasn’t talking about men. That talk comes later. Years later.

Midway through, she’s pedaling along side me, looks over and says, “Besides, why are we having this talk? Is it because I’m getting older & growing up?” Yes, dear, that’s exactly why. Then, “Is daddy having a talk with Tyler too?” No, honey, he’s not ready for his talk yet.

I make clear that if her time comes when she is in school, to not get upset but seek out a female teacher that she is comfortable with & ask for help. If it happens when she is at her dads, to ask him to call me – cuz he will surely freak.

Next, our talk goes randomly into babies. This does not come about in the way you would expect it to from such a talk. She went into body parts that get bigger when you grow up and teeth happened to be one of those parts she listed. Which then became, “babies can’t talk when they’re born because they have no teeth.” To this I replied, “no, babies can’t talk when they’re born because they haven’t learned to talk yet.”

“Oh, so babies can’t talk because they’re not born with any smarts?”

Close enough.

Can I just be 9 and be naïve again??


I sometimes have a hard time understanding family dynamics, as mine is fully dysfunctional. In October of 1997 I started dating the father of my oldest two children. It soon became the messiest relationship I have ever been thru. Only to get extremely worse. I am a trusting & forgiving person. He fed off of this. I often became plagued that his family would stick up for his actions, would cover for him, would even encourage him.

These people took me in immediately. Nicknamed me “Skippy” (come on, I was 17!!). Treated me like part of the family. I was sooo hungry for a family. I bought into every last word, each fake smile, and every emotional hug. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It took 11 years to figure that out, and even then, only with the help of a new “family”.

It took 11 years to figure out that some families, no matter how severely dysfunctional, will still always be family. No outsiders allowed. That’s ok by me, finally, because I’d rather NOT be included in the dysfunction, since I have so much of it naturally on my own!

I could never figure out why it was so easy for each of them to lie to me. They KNEW the truth; I was not a complete fool. Only partial. Because I wanted so desperately for the life that him & I had to be different from what he was making it. I was a fool for thinking it would be. But I am not a fool for stopping it now.

Over these 11 years, I have grown wiser (I’d like to think, but most likely will look back @ myself and laugh hysterically). It’s a bond that most sisters & brothers, mothers & fathers, sons & daughters have with each other; the ability to accept each member as they are, without judgment. Without hypocrisy.

While I still feel obliged NOT to be a part of that family, I do understand the family love that would allow each member to commit such deceit & dishonesty. Someday, I will look back at them & smile.

Because somewhere there is a true family, one that doesn’t HAVE to allow lying, stealing, cheating & all that comes with those things, as normal behavior.

As acceptable.

Somewhere, there is something better.


“Simple, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. It is dependent on what an individual can or can’t understand, accept, and/or handle as a part of their life’s story.”
-April Gerard, Whitley County Habitat for Humanity, best friend for more than half my life. Quoted on 8-31-08

This is the response I get when I question life. That some days it is so very difficult to pick my head up & take another mere step; yet other days seem to float by in fairy dreamland. My wistful ponderings, hoping & wishing that each day could be so easy, so ‘simple,’ lead to this discussion. The conversation then turns to being able to take one’s own advice & finally, into “Life’s happiness is followed by life’s misery – hand in hand. Take the bad with the good. But what to do if the bad outweighs the good? And who is in charge of the measuring? HOW do we measure?”

Who has these answers? Why even ask the questions?? Instead, we each swallow the doubt and go on to face another uncertain day. Is it really all that bad? How many times have I thought to myself, “I can NOT live another day like this; there is NO point”. Yet here I am – mostly thanks to some very supportive, very watchful BEST friends. As I sit here, I look back at what I have ‘suffered’ through & now simply wonder what it was at that moment that made it seem like the end.

I am cursed by my own nature. My own strength & my own stupidity combined. It is the balance of the universe, of life. Opposites must come together to make a whole.

On occasion I haphazardly walk thru the library picking up books, flip thru to the mid-section of the book & start reading. If that particular paragraph can hold my attention onto the next paragraph, I’ll check it out & read it at home. Often in one night. Once something catches my attention I have a very difficult time putting it down. Last week I picked up a book titled “Tethered” by Amy MacKinnon. It turned out to be a very grotesque book; a suspense/thriller/mystery revolving around a mortician that graphically detailed death & it’s ‘after components’. I had no idea, when I read a random chapter, that this book detailed what I have been so carelessly struggling with recently. The last line in the book is merely “I chose to breathe.”

Do I? Do I choose to breathe? Am I tethered to life?