why HIV service proiders rock:

What other profession begins and ends every meeting with hugs? I love my job.

i never thought ...

I honestly never thought I'd see the day that it would be nessecary to name a hurricaine after a letter of the >gasp< greek alphabet! Hopefully we will all be spared the reality of politicians everywhere mispronouncing these sacred letters. Can you imagine the GW soundclips for Hurrcaine Epsilon or, worse yet, Hurricaine Ommicron?

'dear john' that i never sent #1: darren

Dear Darren,

My intention now is the same as it was since we last spoke - one month ago. That is, to tell you how much I cherish your friendship, but I can't enter into a romantic relationship with someone just to avoid being single.

Although I'm aware that those words may sound venimous, that is not my purpose for saying them.

Ever since you made the comment to me that you don't tink that I am physically attracted to you, I have been constantly questioning myself and looking for a reason that you are wrong. The conclusion that I came to is: the fact that I can't prove you wrong does not make you right. I am very attracted to you -- all outside the definition of physical and emotional and spiritual. I have never felt so comfortable with any man in my life. Those things cannot be explained. It's a yes or no. You are or you aren't; It's one of life's few black and whites (pardon the pun).

I just can't get the rest of my being to go along with all of the feelings that i have for you in my heart -- no matter how hard i will it to happen. It is for that reason I have chosen not to call you or contact you. You always say that communication is the key to all relationships and that actions speak louder than words; and I know, in our case, that the two are mutually exlusive.

The intention that I originally spoke of: I hope that our paths cross again, but for the time being, there is too much between us for this to work. There is too much that I am not willing to do, willing to say, willing to sacrifice. And therein lies the answer that we have been looking for since that first night one year ago.

Without any doubt in my head or my heart ... I love you.

I continue to belive that I will see you soon and that we will be at peace with whatever exists between us.

all of my love,
_b

in his defense

"But..."

Everytime.

It's the same thing everytime.

"He's lied. He's cheated. He's broken my trust. He's not who I see myself with. He's not right for me.

...but..."
___________________________________________________________________________

As I dial the number of my most reliable "fuck-him-he's-an-asshole" friend, I pause - index finger suspended over the key of the phone number's final digit.

Suddenly, in my mind, I am whisked away to a phone call that I made at the beginnig of last week: a call placed to a former flame. Although I haven't thought about him or the unreturned message that I left on his Voicemail, I am suddenly implored to analize my [subconscious]intentions for the [booty] call. Who innocently calls a former bed-buddy to see if he wants to go see the new Paul Walker movie?

Furthermore, I am currently running in my head that this [booty] call is the possible reason that Karma has punished me [yet again] by forcing me in love with another man of the "gotta-have-a-lover-in-the-on-deck-circle-in-case-this-doesn't-work-out" variety. (hereforth referred to as HISWFM (He Is So Wrong For Me).)

And in the time it takes me to move my finger to the "end call" button, I have convinced myself that I somehow deserve to be treated the way I was treated earlier today:
_____________________________________________________________________________

Having celebrated our second week "broken up", Mr. HISWFM is in town for what we have collectively decided would be the "make it or break it weekend". In theory this will be a weekend that we sit down and decide if the past two weeks have been hell or if that the time apart is finally starting to make sense; that we just aren't good together.

Like any highly [dis]functional relationship that I have had insight into, we avoid the topic 100%. Reasons: a) I hate the "let's end it" conversation, b)it really does feel nice to have him paying attention to me, c)he has brought his five year old daughter with him, d) I just don't care that much.

In short: Friday is quiet. He goes out to a local bar that he used to frequent when he lived here (he moved to DC in June - I think that was break-up #6 or 7). Ironically, it was in this bar that we met and it was in this bar that I constantly witnessed his questionable fidelity. Which is why it still gives me pause if he decides that he is going there without me. Saturday is family day - no way to make that exciting (the joys of being attracted to DILFs).

Now, Sunday is where Karma begins to close her ugly hands around my neck.

Sitting in a trendy, 'popping up in every mall in America' kind of restaurant, I realize that I have yet to make plans for the football game later that evening. Patting both pockets and saying the magic words that never seem to make that which you are looking for appear, I realize that I have left my cel on the nigtstand.

After appologizing to daughter of HISWFM for using such foul language and for wishing such horrible things upon Jesus Christ, I ask HISWFM if he would be so kind as allow me the use of his phone. In light of his tendency to use his cel as a 'little black book' and of my tendency to think I am an investigator on CSI:, this is a test of the trust that we are attempting to establish with each other: It would be a HUGE episode if he is able to trust me with his phone and even HUGER for me to trust that, even if I were to snoop in the contact list, I would not find names here that would cause me to make a scene in front of the cute-but-too-young server that is now taking our drink order (not to mention the ever encouragable five year old).

So yeah. He hands me his phone. I do mini-cartwheels in my head.

"Hey, girl, what are you doing for the game later tonight? .... Yeah, I'm at [insert name of cheesey corporate restaurant here] with HISWFM an the kid. .... Oh, girl I can't drink too much tonight, so I don't care where we --- uh, hold on one second. HISWFM is getting a call on the other line ... I'll be right back with you."

To HISWFM: "So - babe? You're getting a call on the other line."

HISWFM: "Who is it?"

Me: "[insert name from list of names that I hope never to see in his 'black book']"

HISWFM: "Just ignore it."

Me(eager to give the cute-but-too-young server a good show): "ha ... riiiiight. Hello."

The color is instantly gone from Mr. HISWFM's lovely mixed race brown face. He looks more white now than when he "cleaned up" to meet my parents.

Me: "Hello? Hello?"

Bitch on the other end: "uhm ... hello? I was trying to reach HISWFM."

Me: "may I ask who is calling? ... well honey, this is his better half, and he isn't available right now. ... what? ... you didn't know he wasn't single? ... He'll call you later."

>>click<<

Enter the boy-server: "here is your cah -- i'm sorry, are you leaving? Would you like your entree to go?"

After letting the boy know that he could just enjoy the meal on my behalf and charge the cost to HISWFM's bill, I turned to HISWFM and let him know that that phonecall just helped me decide the outcome of this "make or break" weekend and walked out to the payphone to call and ask my roommate to pick me up.

While waiting on the curb I hear a sobbing in the distance. I quietly berade myself for causing such a scene in front of the child. To my dismay [and satisfaction] I turned to see HISWFM stumbling toward me -- crying like a six year old.

I gave him the well rehearsed "i am so sick of this shit" speech and climbed into the car (thank god my roommate has impeccable timing).

In all honesty, as I looked in the rearview to see him being consoled by his five year old daughter, I was absolutely devoid of feelings. I wasn't happy, nor was I sad. I was empty - completely detatched from a situation that my friends had been trying to pull me out of for nearly two years.

Of course he got in his car and followed us. Of course he jumped out and made a scene in my building's parking lot. And of course he begged me all the way to my front door to forgive him. begging me the entire time: "BABY! Don't leave me! We were broken up! I can't lose you!" -- all of which have worked for him before.

I shut the door in his face and proceeded to franticly gather all of his belongings that had accumulated in my apartment over the past year. As I near the end of this task, I decide to finally answer one of the calls that he has been inscecently making from the parking lot outside of my apartment.

It's more of the same.

More: I wasn't going to call [insert homewrecker's name] back

More: I only want to be with you ... but I didn't know where we stood.

More: I'm not even interested ... [homewrecker] got my number from a co-worker.

And I can only see that he is wrong ... again.

And I can't rationalize why I shouldn't call it quits. So I tell him this and that his belongings are in the garbage bag that is now freefalling from the second floor window.

" --and stop calling me. Have a safe trip."

____________________________________________________________________________________

Karma. That's what it all is. And that is exactly what I tell myself as I redial "fuck-him-he's-an-asshole" friend's number.

As my friend tells me all the reasons that he is so wrong for me, I spew off all of the reasons that he was justified in his most recent episode of extracurricular dating.

This is how it goes. I always arm this friend with enough ammunition to make HISWFM hate-able and equally as much artillery to defend all infidelities (read: why I am at fault for him having a wandering eye).

And perhaps that is what I get out of this relationship. I get to pick him up and prove to myself and to my friends that he is worth defending and that I am soley reponsible for the outcome - that I am the reason we keep failing. That he has reasons for everything and that a second chance will prove him worthy.

Perhaps I can't stand the thought of being alone long enough to see that despite his proclomations of love, I have nothing to do with the things he does and the choices that he makes -- a thought that is just too painful to entertain.

you are what you blog.

[Please excuse me if I am at all late to the party going on over at E-Brechi.]

On Wednesdy of last week, one of my favorite reads, E-Brechi posted quite a conversation starter. In it he expressed his disdain at the amount of attention that Cindy Sheehan was recieving and the events that led to her arrest on Mondayof the week previous. Instead of presenting a case in his own words, Brechi bravely chose to alienate half of his readership by taking the words out of [bigot]Anne Coulter's mouth.

As if that was not enough, he continues twisting the knife by adding a quote from war widdow, Mitzy Kenny, that cites such protests as the reason for giving the 'enemy hope'. Kenny, even goes so far as to say: "Don't be a group of unthinking lemmings." I can't express how fitting this final statement is in summing up all three parties involved in the construction of this post: Coulter, Kenny, and Brechi.

I highly suggest reading the comments left on account of Brechi's opinion-post.

Fast forward to yesterday. I, always up for constructive debate, was eager to get over to Brechi's site and check out how things had evolved. There were many personal attacks ("Brechi, Brechi, Brechi. Who knew you were a closet conservative?") and threats ("I'm afraid we can't be blog-friends if you're going to link to Ann Coulter"); and by both accounts, such items are expected and predictable to the point of boredom. And the Brechi points this out in his subsequet post.

[I will wait here while you head over to read his retort ....]

I was disappointed to find him saying more of the same blogger bullshit: "don't judge me because I linked to Satan. I just agreed on one topice, and besides, Satan was an angel at one point. [sic]"

I am so sick of this; the blogging equivalent of the Jerry Springer Show chant "You don't know me!" Give me a break. If you want to be judged soley on your beliefs, don't bother linking to other's ideas. And if you are going to throw stones like "lemming" at anyone who decides to oppose your borrowed right wing ideals, then you had better be sure that you have more to back it up than just: "It doesn't take much thought to parrot someone else's entire agenda and make it your own", becuase you're further proving your oppositions point.

As with any form of self expression, blogging is a window into the personal thoughts and beliefs of its author, and I like to think that the blogs I read regularly are as honest as they can be. Maybe I'm not being realistic, but I've deduced that even blogs of the over-the-to variety are somewhat honest from time to time; that any avid reader can begin to get a feel for the living breathing person that is sitting at the keyboard.

I hope that Brechi continues to post his opinions and that he continues to link to other pieces that he is reading (I love informative networking -- even A. Coulter). But, at the same time, I hope he learns to give his readers a bit more credit and shy away from the stone throwing that he, while criticizing, ultimately became a part of. Just let the debate happen naturally. I echo what one of Brechi's commenters said:

I believe you've succeded in blogging where others have failed. My hat's off to you, Brechi. I only hope my blog stirs as much debate someday.

Some Thing(s) I Love(d)

[before reading on, you must know that this entry has been inspired by joe.my.god's recent "things i don't hate" entries (BTW - they are very worth looking at and provide an excellent entry point to a truly talented writer's POV.) Although i doubt i will ever be in joe's caliber of blogspertise, i have been admiring what he does for quite some time. And hell ... imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?]

In no particular order:

Thing #1: L.A. Gear sneakers. Growing up in a small, upstate, adirondack town (now internationally famous for it's proximity to the "boating disaster" on Lake George)the closest thing to high fashion was a small store in the center of town run by transplants from NYC. The items in the store were no doubt knock-offs that had been bought off of the back of a truck while the proprieters were visiting "family" in one of the five bouroughs (I'll let you decide which one).

Each September, Mom would take my sister and I to see what the latest [fresh off of the back of a truck in] NYC style was. I will never forget the first time I layed eyes upon the hightop sneakers with >gasp< two, differently colored pairs of laces -- IN EACH SHOE!. I dropped to my knees and pledged alliegece to Mr. Gear, the man who would no doubt be responsible for my extreme popularity.

After brief counsel from Mom, I was talked out of the purple/green laces and into the blue/yellow beauties - surely they would draw more attention because of their homage to our school colors.

I wore, with pride, my school spirit-filled kicks. The nuscience of tieing enough laces for four ordinary pair of shoes was but a small price to pay for having the best dressed feet in all of third grade.

I still get weepy when I think of the day that they went missing. I had removed them in order to participate in the torturous P.E. snowshoeing requirement (something that every child in the Adirondacks must be subjected to). And I still get angry when I think of Brian Carpenter showing up a week later in sneakers that eerily resembled my L.A. Gears save the colors of the laces: his were black and white.

Although I soon learned to love my Converse Hypercolor Hightops, nothing will ever replace the first in a long line of shoes that I loved.