The Astronaut

I get this text message, the first communication from Steppy in weeks, and it's just an Idyllwild address. It turned out to be a lodge/restaurant up there.

I texted back with my address, my way of saying "no, you come here," and he responded again with the Idyllwild address. I sent the address of the nearest Starbucks, which he most likely Googled, because it took him a while to write back again with the Idyllwild address again. Then I sent him the address to a mental health clinic and he wrote back "ha ha very funny, are you coming or what?"

I told him not unless he answered his fucking phone. He said no because it would "ruin things."

Ja, well I worry about my safety and just blindly going to an address in the mountains seems awfully dern fishy to me. I've watched enough episodes of Lonelygirl15 to know that some shit will go down, like men in suits with guns will try to shove me into their Buicks and drain me of my blood, and I'm not playing any fucking games. I demanded that he tell me what in the hell was going on, and so he finally broke down and called me.

"What in the hell is all this about?" I demanded.

"If I tell you then you wont come."

"Okay well I'm not going to get swooped up into a net or something am I?"

"No."

"And is there going to be candles and jazz and a bubbling hot tub?"

"Absolutely not."

"Can I buy a vowel?"

"Your rent is due."

"Ok so then what in the fuck is this shit then?"

"I told you, if you knew then you wouldn't come."

"So it's a bad thing."

"Yes and no. Yes mostly."

"So then why do I want to come?"

"Because this has to be done right or else I'm going to hate myself for the rest of my life."

"And what is it that you're doing?"

"See? This is why I didn't call you!"

"This is bullshit!"

"Don't be mad at me, please."

"Okay, well then let's not talk about that. Why haven't you called me or anything? You know you missed my birthday?"

"I have your present, dont worry."

"Yeah but why didn't you call?"

"I will explain when we're up there. By the way, tell your internet friends that I wasn't mad at you for going to the funeral, and I'm really disappointed in you that you took it that way."

"So you read my blog."

"I haven't been until recently. And why am I Justin Timberlake?"

"Can I use your real picture?"

"No."

"Well that's why. So then if you weren't mad, then why haven't you called me?"

"I told you, I will explain."

"Yeah but you're making this out to be really bad, I'm not sure if I want to go."

"Please."

I thought about it. And I looked at your answers from that poll that I put up. A number of you seem to think that this is some kind of tarp. Not a trap but a tarp, like to cover a wood pile. I thought about it all Tuesday night, well, most of Tuesday night. There was a period where Pico called saying that he did something horrendously shameful that he would never forgive himself for. Here I am thinking he killed a man or fapped to something really bad like 1man1jar, and it turned out that he fucked a fat chick he met on Myspace. Why he felt the need to relay this information to me, I dont know, but it took my mind off of things for an hour to hear him whine about something so insignificantly stupid and kind of funny.

Anyway, back to Steppy, this is confusing because he says it's bad...so then why do I have to go? I dont want to go to something bad, which is probably why he chose the mountains as the setting because he knows I'd go. Then again this could be some sort of tarp.

I called him back around 10:00, it was still early and it was clear that he wasn't working. I told him that I wouldn't go, there was no way. David has the 1st off at The Cans and I'm trying to absorb as much of him as I can right now because he's still on track for leaving in February which is just weeks away. I told him that if he has something to say to me then he's just going to have to come over, because I was not going to drive to the mountains just to hear him tell me he fucked a fat chick or something. (Wouldn't have that been funny?) He was pretty pissed though, he said he had reservations of some kind and I just told him that it was his own fault because you cant just make plans like that. What if David had to work? My sister's out of town, who would have watched the kids? Could I have brought the kids? Or was it not that kind of thing?

He only lives a few blocks away so it didn't take him long to get here. I let him in, and he had this look on his face like he was pissed off and either going to rip me a new one or just throw me down on the floor and tear my shirt open like some crazy romance novel hero. I totally backtracked my thought process of having him come over, especially when he locked the deadbolt behind him.

"Whu'd you do that for?" I asked. He said it was so Kramer couldn't come in. Kramer of course being the nosey neighbor who just walks into my house as she pleases now. I usually keep the deadbolt locked, too. He sat on the couch and didn't look so angry anymore. He just sort of...looked at me. I'm like "seeeeew, what's goin on?"

And he kept staring at me.

"I'm breaking up with you," he said. I just kind of raised my eyebrows and looked away, I mean, how else do you respond to that? "I wanted to do this right, over dinner and everything."

"And in public so you wouldn't get slapped?"

"That wasn't something I thought about, but are you going to slap me?"

"Nah, but I'm quite amused that you said you were 'breaking up with me' instead of just 'ending our friendship' or something less romantic relationship sounding."

Well, he went on to explain that for him it did become a romantic relationship even if it was one sided. And he's doing this because he's going to try to fix his marriage, which includes going back to church.

"Why in the hell would you do something that would make you so miserable?"

"Because it helps me keep my family, and when I do it my wife at least talks to me. I've agreed to go see one of her marriage councilor picks, and we're going to start functioning again."

"But you'll be miserable, why would you put yourself through that? You dont want that, do you?"

"No, but are you going to leave David if I agree to divorce my wife so that you and I can be together?" Wow, that was pretty fucking direct.

"Of course not."

"Well then, there you go. You're what I want, and I cant have you, so that's the end of it, I have to stick with my wife and I need to play by her rules if I want to make that happen."

"And we have to stop being friends?"

"Yes, because as long as I'm hanging around with you I'll want you. You're a huge distraction to my marriage, that's the reality of it."

"Is she making you do this?"

"Nope, my decision. Here's your present, by the way." He hands me an envelope across the table. There's a Starbucks gift card in it. "There's $100 on it, so you can go sit and do your re-write. Obviously you wont be coming over to use my office anymore." Not that I ever used it.

"So then you're also taking back your promise to help me with Bombshell."

"I cant do it anymore, I'm sorry, I just cant. I looked into it and your publisher is no longer charging you for the ISBN, and if you'd like I will place a bulk order of books for you, but as for the cabin rental for a book signing party and being your so called literary agent, I'm sorry. But I know that you'll find a way to do this, you're smart. You'll do this." He said that the Sally lady is good with people, so maybe I could have her make phone calls and networks and connections and what not for me.

"Cant you just control yourself? Seriously man, you cant just, here, look," I say and pull up my pant leg, "I haven't shaved my legs in over a month, isn't that disgusting? I'm such a filthy pig, I'm so unattractive, right? Here, look at my fat gut. Have a look at my dental atrocities."

He said if it were that simple he wouldn't be doing this. He said he was really going to miss me. He walked over to hug me, and he told me that he would never be over me, he just has to do this before he does something stupid, and that he'll call me again someday when the time is right. I'm like "Come on, let's just be awkward. You can drop hints all the time and I can pretend not to notice them. You can go to hug me and I'll push you off of me and shit, just like old times. We dont have to stop being friends!"

"Yes we do," he insisted. "Besides, I'm Mormon again."

"Yes! And I can make fun of your silly beliefs and prance around saying *wheee look at me, I'm Jooooseph Smiiiiiiith* and every time your wife is knocked up we can pray to Elohim together or whatever you crazy Mormon bastards do. I will lovingly support you by making fun of your religious dogma, just like I do with all of my friends. All...two of you. And I dont make fun of Sally's because she'll hurt me. So I just want to make fun of you...but gently, like with a stick, I can poke at you with a stick, but not in the crotch or ribs or anywhere else that hurts. Just like the side of your arm or something, come on, Steppy!" He stood there for a minute, but then he laughed. And I broke into song. "Try to see it my way, do I have to keep on talking till I cant go on? We can work it out, we can work it ou-ut," and I even did a little jiggidy jig. If I could juggle I would have been doing that as well.

He put his hand on my shoulder and told me to stop because I was making it too hard. I told him that was the damn point...and I was so thankful that we weren't in a restaurant. Once I get started I dont stop this shit, it's compulsive. I dont deal with rejection very well, I have issues upon issues with rejection and death...I kind of chuckled when I saw Victor lying in his coffin even though it wasn't funny...there is something wrong with my brain. I swear to god, if they told me that I have autism or something tomorrow, I'd be like yup. I am seriously deranged and I cant cope with people leaving me very well at all.

"Table dances," I offered. "Lap dances, hey, look at my flannel pajamas huh? I'm dead sex-ay, ja, come on, sit for a spell. I have a whole tin of cheap nasty cookies that someone gave David and like 40 boxes of tea. Or if you prefer I have a gift card to Starbucks. Go get yourself something freshly brewed by a cute 16 year old girl with glittery eyeshadow and a name like Breezy or some shit on me, I got this one, officer."

"No, Jessie--"

"Your sweater! I can knit you your sweater, tonight. Come sit down and we'll find a pattern you like. You want cables? Fancy stitches? Fair isle?"

Well then he just fucking kisses me out of nowhere, like a serious mad man a lal lal lal...well he probably got a good idea of my horrendous dental issues I've got going on with my molars, wowsie! Shit! Nothing like catching somebody off guard by making them choke on your tongue, so of course I pushed him away with my hands. He looked really pissed off again.

"See? I cant control myself around you, I'm a bad guy." It sounded really hateful and sarcastic and he opened the door and started heading down the stairs.

"Well I didn't feel anything so THERE! I'll call you tomorrow."

"No you wont."

"I totally will."

He turned around and said "Don't call me," and left.

Everybody's sick for something that they can find fascinating, everyone but me but even I'm not feeling well.

Astronaut - Amanda Palmer

Ampersand

I always said to David back when there was a lot of family drama that once we've been married five years people will back off and realize that not only am I here to stay but that he wasn't "tricked" or "trapped" as they had so believed. Obviously if he were trapped he would have tried to climb out or gnaw off his own foot by now, and if I had only been there for the family's non-existent money, I'd of gotten it by now.

Well, it's been five years now, and things have improved family wise I suppose. His mom is still fairly indifferent to me but she doesn't hate me, and his dad seems to like me because I put topless pictures of the hot Romanian neighbor on the internet and also because I speak the truth about things, which allows in turn for him to say what's on his mind. Most of the rest of the family on his dad's side at least talks to us, and I think the standoff with the Wilson's is mutual for the most part.

But back to our anniversary, our New Years Eve anniversary, we always caution young people who intend to have children against getting married on this day. Reason being, you cant find a babysitter! Who is seriously going to babysit on New Years Eve without a $200 deposit and time-and-a-half hourly wages? We didn't think this all the way through because we weren't being rational at the time. We were all young and stupid and in love, and we still are, but now we can pull our heads out of each other's butts long enough to see the world around us as well.

But there was a method behind the madness, a reason why we insisted on New Years Eve. Now, we aren't superstitious people, we aren't religious and we don't have many traditions, but if there's one thing that the two of us really believe in it's the New Years kiss. This is so much different than the mistletoe kiss, because you can make out with practically anybody under the mistletoe and it doesn't count. That's what it's there for, so you can just start making out with people with no repercussions, because it's like "it's not like I planned to be walking through this door way at the same time as this half naked firefighter, I just got thirsty when I saw him and I got up to get a drink, and I happened to bend over to tie my shoe because he was a few steps behind and so then when he reached the hallway I was like 'lookie up there mista.'"

But the sluttiness does not exist with the New Years kiss because it has an entirely different meaning. Snopes says about this superstition that "we kiss those dearest to us at midnight not only to share the moment of celebration with our favorite people, but also to ensure those affections and ties will continue throughout the next 12 months. To fail to smooch our significant others at the stroke of 12 would set the stage for a year of coldness."

In my feeble little relationship experience, this is so very true.

My first "serious" boyfriend Steve was my first New Years kiss, and granted we did kiss at midnight, his scary dad the Marine stood right over us the whole time, making it a little awkward for both of us, so when we broke up a few months later I wasn't surprised. We were together for like six months, which is a long long time for kids. I was like 14, so yes, that is a long time.

And then of course Victor, who I was with for not quite three years. The first two years we did the ritual, romantical and even cheap wine given to us by his step mom. They would leave us alone to go to some party and insist that I spend the night, no matter what that could mean. I think they were just happy to see him off of his computer and with a human girl. Anyway, our relationship was nowhere near as perfect as my marriage to David is, in fact it was laughably opposite, but being teenagers in a quasi-long distance relationship since he lived 20 miles away and neither of us drove, we stood remarkably strong and he was a mostly decent fellow. That is up until he didn't come home from working at Stater's until about 40 minutes after midnight going into our third year. The following few months were when he started to get a little batshit, scary, and violent for sure. By April I had made my decision to leave and plan my escape, but I lingered until after graduation because I had already given the tickets to his family.

Failing to kiss on New Years at the stroke of midnight is death to a relationship.

But David and I have kissed for every New Years since we've been together, and this year I think that it's especially important. In June we will be together for seven years, and I keep hearing something about a "seven year itch." The Marilyn Monroe movie depicts it as some kind of urge to cheat in the seventh year, but modern day suggests that you just kind of get sick of each other and start to fall apart at the seams. This is not something that I truly ever expect to happen to either one of us, but then again the game is going to change significantly this year if and when he goes to academy. It's a strain, and I know we can survive it because we both want to survive it. Furthermore, I know that we will survive it.

But just to seal the deal I'm going to lay one on him, hard and possibly sloppy drunk if I end up being able to choke down the champagne he bought.

David is a proverbial "keeper," and even though we don't often see our names in writing on either side of an ampersand on hand addressed envelopes, it doesn't mean that we aren't that or that we wont always will be that. We don't even need to be reminded of that. Nobody has to support it or believe along with the fairy tale, in fact you can rewind the tape several times to point out the little flaws and mistakes, but at the end of the day the movie still exists as the sum of its parts.

It's worth staying up till midnight for. Not just on New Years, but night after night just so I can spend a while with him before we slip into the sheets and share warmth. I can only wish that all of you have someone who is worth staying up for as well, because it's pretty idyllic over this way here.

2008: A Cynical Look Back

The Good Of 2008

• We found a coffee table and a dining room table and chairs near the dumpster. Not in the dumpster, but near it.
• I met Peggy from Around Yucaipa at Starbucks. Also, I totally saw Kevin Sorbo at the same Starbucks a few days later.
• David, still recovering from a broken collar bone, put in his application for the California Highway Patrol.
• We got a new car to replace the one that got stolen, and it sure was pretty to look at.
• Liz in Seattle came down to see me, and she not only read to my kids but she cooked for us too!
• Ty was tested for autism, and it turned out that he is not autistic but he does have an IQ of 132, which is far above average.
• It snowed! In March!
• I found some of the old pictures that I took in high school and they werent half bad!
• David passed the written test for CHP.
• David passed the physical test for CHP.
• Castle Park hasnt changed one bit since I was a kid.
• David went on his first CHP ride along.
• After writing one juvenile fiction novel, finishing up the editing on my first novel, and attempting to write another novel that I abandoned,I started writing Bombshell...and it was win.
• David slowly transformed from marshmallow to steak in a matter of months.
• I celebrated my third blogiversary.
• I shared a sex scene from Bombshell and people didnt hate it.
• David looked into some other law enforcement career options after being dropped from CHP's application process, but he was promised help, and decided to take another swing at CHP.
• My first novel was released!
• I got hot all of the sudden.
• My book was ferociously fapped to.
• The previously weird and bitchy neighbor befriended me and gave me the password to her wireless network.
• Pictures that I took are being used on wikipedia articles about the area I'm from.
• The boys are perfectly healthy.
• The fireworks show in Beaumont was win, plus it came with a free Christopher Cross concert.
• They didn't end up smashing my camera afterall.
• Golden Dawn ended up in the Library of Congress.
• David found a real message in a bottle.
• We got Ty a pair of Nikes for $8.
• I totally ordered my bitch around.
• Ty started his first day of kindergarten.
• David moved ahead in the application process.
• I wrote to my congressman.
• I also called my governer.
• Shopping is now both Fresh And Easy.
• We got a new car, a 2005 Mazda3.
• The neighbor went to bat for me and got the people here to put in new carpet, which of course snowballed into me painting every room in the house.
• We had the best Halloween EVER!
• Fuck yeah.
• Pico called, and he's not brainwashed and bloodthirsty anymore!
• I gone and done it.
• Donuts appeared mysteriously.
• Ty got straight 4's on his report card.
• I discovered these wonderful little goobers that will soon populate my house and creep out all of my guests.
• We had Thanksgiving with the neighbor's booty call.
• We didnt freak out even though there was prayin'.
• We had our first official customer for our new photography business.
• David's so awesome.
• David made it through background investigations.
• Bombshell is almost here.
• My friends took care of me while I was sick.
• I turned 25.
• David took me on a tram ride for my birthday and it was lovely.
• David turned 21 and bought some beers.

The Bad And The Ugly Of 2008

• Staters had a whole case of donuts that seriously looked like turds.
• I "Fucking Got Torn Apart" by a blog review site...that did not deliver on their promises.
• Our 1996 Honda Civic was stolen in the night by rape hungry ass mongers just one day after David went back to work. They found it later that day stripped badly, and it was a total loss. They also stole Ty's car seat and David's work computer.
• An online friend of mine, Roger the Boring Dispatcher, passed away. I still have not unsubscribed from his YouTube channels and perhaps I never will.
• He loses the trophy, the deal with Quiznos, the underwear ads for JC Penny, and all of that stinkin' filthy money.
• A man was robbed of his tacos.
• We were promised a new bed, but then David's icky filthy drug addict brother got it instead. We were pissed.
• I bought a new dress, the first dress I had bought in years, and the only people who ever complimented it possessed no eyebrows.
• Some moron went batshit crazy on David over some cans.
• I messed up a pair of gloves and a hat to the point that I was nearly in tears all because my yarn was cursed.
• David failed the QAP interview and was dropped from the CHP application process.
• There are cops in holes all over Beaumont just waiting to jump out at you.
• A Stater's employee identified himself on my blog. Oh shit!
• I got sick and I had to have the internet diagnose me because I have no health insurance.
• The fucking Oldsmobile threw a fucking rod.
• Ty eats butter.
• A man made love to my arm at Starbucks.
• What fire, where?
• Some asshole stole something from Wal Mart and we almost got blamed for it.
• Yucaipa caught on fire.
• Nobody wanted to play "the floor is lava" with me.
• I heard rumor of some kind of economic collapse, and put myself on the line to tell you what I thought about it.
• The neighbor turned out to be some kind of Voodoo witch queen.
• The neighbor is also weirdly psychic.
• What kind of god would make a plant that smells like rotten eggs and then make it fart all over Beaumont?
• Ty drank pickle juice stright up.
• He also killed a man and ate the body.
• This place is full'a a bunch of no good punks.
• Beaumont caught on fire.
• Turned out I was right about that whole economic collapse thing.
• The Oldsmobile pooped out once-a-fucking-gain.
• The bus is bullshit.
• There was a huge penis on my front door when I woke up.
• I had a yard sale and only made $20.
• Pebbles and Bam Bam? Really? Ja really.
• Lifetouch photographers cant take pictures worth shit.
• They cut down my tree.
• Steppy loves me.
• My ex boyfriend Victor who I dated for three years died.
• Pico drank and got naked on our couch.

The Cutie Patooties Of 2008

• Aiden Lyric, my great nephew
• Baby humming birds!
• Mr. Sexy Kielbasa Nova
• Wade
• El Guapo
• Segway cops
• The crossing guard
• Veruka
• Mustang Sally
• Presley
• Ty
• Pico
• Dave Matthews and/or Paul McCartney

The Lessons Learned In 2008

• Making a huge pot of red pepper jelly that has to simmer for hours in order to take in all of the onionie goodness is such a bad, bad, eyeball searing idea.
• If you're going to spy on the neighbors, you have to be vewy vewy qwiut.
• The best way to prevent car theft is to actually try to prevent it.
• Condiments aren't free, you know.
• You cant just go around denting in pizzas for the sake of romance.
• Walgreens sells sex in a box.
• Korean melons arent too bad.
• People will try to sell you just about anything under the guise of helping you get ahead.
• Some days, you're just not meant to drink anything.
• Hypnosis can be used to heal, I have proof.
• Vanna White has no boobs.
• Shopping for mens clothes is harder than I thought.
• Knitting needles are considered weapons and they will drag your ass out of the Social Security office if you have them.
• There are too many zombies in the bible.
• There could be a spaghetti so long that it goes out the door, but if you ate it you would splode.
• Having sex with a man who has a really huge dick is scary and exciting according to the masses.
• I touch my lip when I think something is clever.
• As it turns out, all you do in academy is vomit.
• I was never meant to hold, shoot, or even look at a gun.
• Nick thought I was a bitch.
• Flashing your tits may or may not get you free hotwings.
• Zicam will steal your sense of taste and smell for days.
• If I want to get ahead, I might have to hug a few people.
• Yes, it blends!
• My brother Jim can still be a dick sometimes.
• You dont always have to bake the cake.
• I'm so fucked up and yet I know exactly who I am.
• Beaumont has Segway cops.
• I should go on one of those shows where they pay me $1,000 to wreck your shit.
• Hair extentions arent hard to put in.
• Beaumont is full of hot sexy women who want nothing more than to seduce naive young delivery boys with more pizza than commen sense.
• Taking an interest in politics will get you Rick Roll'd many, many times.
• John McCain is a WAR HERO DAMNIT!
• I'm not at all like the other moms.
• David can be a real bitch sometimes.
• Car salesmen really are a bunch of greedy jerks.
• This is the post that made David's dad all butt hurt and made him "stop reading the blog" even though he still reads it.
• Steppy's wife is a humming bird on crack.
• There's just something about the scent of coffee.
• I'm not the one.
• I do the work that allows David to work for a living.
• The neighbor is a sex addict/vampire thing.
• You can love somebody, but not enough to date or marry them.
• David and I agree on a lot of things politically.
• Robot Jessie isnt good at writing about feelings.
• David has a lot of unrealistic expectations.
• The neighbor has a lot of men calling her for phone sex.
• My BSDM porn scenes arent hot enough.
• Romanian speak is amazing.
• You can save a lot of money by handmaking your gifts.
• There's a difference between scat and scat.
• Sometimes not peeking is the best way to go.

The Best Of David's Doll 2008

• Staring Girl: Part II
• Stretched Out Mayonnaise
• The Continuing Saga of Staring Girl
• Negative Apples
• From Every Perspective
• The People That He Meets
• Catch And Release
• Staring Girl: Illustrating A Point
• I Am So Much Bigger Than This Apartment
• The Word (salad) Of God
• Victims Rights
• A Postcard From 2001: The Secret Date At The Brandin' Iron
• Eight Years Later
• Guy vs. Fly
• Time Is Long
• Beaumont, I Demand The Following:
• Hillary
• The Magnificent Margarito
• The Investor And The Moral Dilemma
• Money, It's A Gas
• 50 First Dates
• Good
• Hike To Big Falls
• Belly Dancing Video Delivered
• The Swingingist Place I Know
• This Circus Has Tickled My Fancy
• In Defense Of Bristol Palin
• The Cow Has Been Milked
• Mens
• The 10 Things I Wont Give Up Just To Save Money
• Collection Of Words
• In Love For You
• Guest Writer: A Ride With Mustang Sally
• The Real Bombshell
• End Days
• Rubber Butt Balls
• Love And Marriage, Love And Marriage, It's An Institute You Cant Dispariage
• Election Day Live from Southern California
• Mugu
• ER
• It's So Sad
• Taste The Madness (via video)
• The Miserable Pretty Boy And Me
• Dear Victor,
• His Eulogy, I Wrote
• The Ending Notes Of One Last Song

And before we close this out, let's have a visual look back at 2008.

Watching Another Boy Get Drunk

I don't think he looks a thing like his brother, do you? Different fathers, but still I think that David got the better deal with the genetics here. Matt is 27, and David is 21!!!!!!!!!!! In fact he bought some beer today down at the BevMo. He bought an Anchor Steam anniversary ale, and he got a Delirium Tremens Belgian ale. That one has a bottle that they paint with white speckled paint to prevent it from getting sun damage, which tells me that it's a pussy beer because it cant handle a little sunlight. Pfft. He also bought Chimay, which is a beer made by Trappist Monks in the mountains in Belgium. All they do all day is pray and make beer, and that's how you get quality.

My sister took us out to dinner and he had a midori margarita. I say he smells like booze, he says he feels nothing. But the drinking will commence soon enough. I told him that it's okay if he gets silly or even a little weird tonight, I mean, I've already had a naked dude on my couch this week who had a bit too much of the vodka, so David having some beers and falling over slightly is cool. As long as he doesn't somehow transform into an angry drunk and start punching me, because that would be bad. I don't know much about drunks, but I think I'm about to find out.

He also bought some champagne for our anniversary, zefiro, which is an Italian sparkling wine. I don't know, the BevMo guy picked it out. I'll probably hate it, I ate the cherry from his margarita and I cringed because I tasted the booze.

His dad said something about gambling and strip clubs, something else about just giving him the credit card, I don't know what he was talking about but I'd sure like to know if he was serious, though David's mom sent an all out religious e-card this morning, so I'm sure if there are strip clubs involved it's supposed to be hush-hush and don't put this in your blog or whatever. Things will be relatively interesting, and he's began to sip the Anchor Steam so I have to wrap this up quick so I can watch.

But I do want to mention what was brought up in the comments section of the last post as kind of an aside. Steppy and I are not talking right now. He got mad that I went to the funeral because he doesn't think "that guy" deserved it, even though I was invited there by the family. He's convinced that there was nothing there for me and no reason to go, and it was kind of like saying that everything that he did to me was "okay." He's only looking at it with his cop eyes, cut and dry "just stay the hell away from it." The classic, "doc it hurts when I do this," and the doc says "don't do it."

He doesn't understand it at all, and so he's not speaking to me, and I'm not speaking to him which is probably for the better. It also could be a jealousy issue, since I was with Victor when I went on that date with him and I chose to stay with Victor. He still thinks I made a mistake, and I disagree because at that point Victor wasn't crazy at all and he was very likable and safe to be around. He went nuts way after the fact. Steppy's not convinced, so whatever, I've decided not to bother with it. He'll call eventually, he lurves me, remember?

Ja, so does David but he didn't get all butt hurt because I went to a funeral. He was confused by it but he didn't get butt hurt and jealous of the dead man. Jeez, it's not like we're going to hook up or something, he's dead. Fuck.

He's moved on to the Delirium, I should go.

Maybe I'm Amazed

Nobody who has tried has ever actually guessed David's correct age. That's because he seems older. And yes, there are those newcomers to the blog who will draw back when I say that December 28th is David's 21st birthday.

Didn't you just turn 25?

Yes.

And you say your 5th wedding anniversary is in a few days?

Yepperooni.

And the kid...is his?

Ja, totally.

And then they do the math. No further questions, your honor.

It takes a really special kind of person to do what David has done...besides the whole knocking up a college girl his sophomore year thing, I mean actually going where life leads him and sticking to his plans. David made a whole string of difficult decisions before turning 16, before he was even a licensed driver. He wanted to not only be in the baby's life but he wanted to be a part of it, and of mine as well despite his family's wishes. He took the test and graduated early and dropped the Sheriff's Explorers so he could get a job at Stater's. He excommunicated his family when they got all batshit crazy for over a year. He has been the sole provider for a family of four for over three years.

Again, he's turning 21.

He sits outside all day in a metal box in anywhere from 28-117 degree weather, then gets stiffed on tips when he delivers pizzas at night, and this is not what drives him to wake up at 6:00 in the morning to run a few miles and train for academy when he could be still warm and snuggled in bed. He does it because he wants his boys to be proud and well taken care of. David does what he has to do and he does not intend to give up until he can look at those boys and know that he has become a father that they can look up to.

But he doesn't realize that even if he did deliver pizzas for the rest of his life, they would still look up to him, because there is so much more to David than teenage parenthood, running shoes, aluminum cans, and pepperoni. But let's put aside the sappy stuff to appreciate David for all of the other things that he is.

• David studies animal biology in his spare time. His two favorite subjects are birds of prey and lepidoptery (butterflies and moths.) He will take off running mid conversation to chase a flutter of orange, only to discover that it was a Starburst wrapper caught in an updraft.
• Dogs love him unconditionally. It's rare that a dog in a yard will bark at him, and many of them will put their tail between their legs and lick his hand when they approach. I happen to think that there is more to this than the fact that he smells like perma-pizza.
• He likes Metallica and he read the whole Lord of the Rings series in about two weeks time.
• David taught me to knit.
• He also speaks bits and pieces of Spanish, enough to have conversations with his non English speaking bums who visit him.
• He broke his collar bone last December when he ate shit on his bike in front of a bunch of kids who he happened to have ate shit in front of a few weeks before. His collar bone juts out on that side now because it healed crooked. It's gnarly, but he still has full range of motion.
• He can do about 60 pushups without stopping.
• He eats peas right out of the can with a spoon for lunch.
• Other than canned peas, he could live on Budget Gourmet's Ziti Parmesano alone and be perfectly content.
• He's read all of my books, even the ones that you haven't.
• David is Agnostic despite being the grandson of a pastor and being raised Christian. He says he's not Atheist because that would suggest that he denies the existence of a god. He is Agnostic because he has his beliefs, but he doesn't really spend his life thinking about it. He's content.
• He plays the tuba, better than you and better than anyone that you know.
• I forget which side it is, but one of his armpits only sweats iodine and you can smell it. He had a cyst there once and it had to be taken care of by the doctor, who ordered that the wound be injected with iodine every two days for like a week. This is what that has created: iodine sweat.
• He is missing a few eyelashes due to a chicken pock, and one of his normally blue-green-gray eyes has an orange streak in it because he got hit in the eye with a Frisbee.
• He hates his name but has no idea what to change it to.
• He always smiles and says "hi baby," when he comes home, even when he's had a shitty day.
• His harebrained schemes to impress me always fail, but nobody can make me laugh harder than he can.
• He was 270 pounds the day Ty was born. He now weighs just under 190.
• He got my name tattooed on his wedding finger.
• He wants a daughter more than anything.
• He lived in Colorado for several years and used to think that 60 degrees was hot when he moved to Cali.
• He lit a tree on fire once when he was 10. WHERE WERE THE PARENTS?

Baby Im amazed at the way you love me all the time,
Maybe Im afraid of the way I love you.
Baby Im amazed at the the way you pulled me out of time,
Hung me on a line,
Maybe Im amazed at the way I really need you.

And now for a barrage of e-cards.

Another Year Over

So now I'm back, back with my pictures and my stories and my loot, and soon the Photo Challenge will be back as well. And for some reason, some dern reason, of all of the holiday photos I've been taking over the past several weeks, this one just happens to be my favorite. Tiny little jammies on a clothesline garland on a flocked tree at my adopted family's house. It seems like the lighting is perfect, and the scale is almost surreal, like they might be life sized and the line might be running through someone's pine tree covered back yard. I don't know, this picture just strikes me as good for some reason. I like it, anyway.

It was still dark outside when Ty came in the room and said "Mama, Santa didn't come."

Santa did too, in fact he left the gifts on the couch in plain sight.

"Are you sure? Why don't you go check your stocking."

The stockings by the way were on the couch as well, RIGHT NEXT TO THE GIFTS. He still didn't see it. "Why did he only fill our stockings though? Why didn't he bring any presents?"

We got out of bed and pointed to the couch. "They're right there Ty."

"OH!"

We did smaller Christmas this year. Less stupid random things and more precise toys that we knew they would find actual entertainment value in. And oddly enough, even though I had planned to buy more for him, I only ended up getting David those two things, the wallet and the shirt. I totally thought I got him more, when actually I had only planned to. That's okay because he only got me jammies. It actually worked out perfectly because there was really nothing that we wanted this year, and the things that we needed we assigned to other people. My sister bought his running shoes and his parents bought his Etnies. I got my pots and pans from my sister, and the family's house where we always spend Christmas I ended up with some cool stuff for the house that I never would have bought myself. What they do there is basically just buy a whole big pile of things and the mini-families all get to choose what they want in turns. It takes the stress out of shopping, because people just choose what they want out of what is there.

This year I got a cool free standing wrought iron three tier hanging basket thing to like put fruit and veggies in or whatever, which will look good in the empty corner of my kitchen. I also got a Lazy Susan which I intend to use on my coffee table for "rip and dip" dinners, the kind where you have breads or veggies with different dips and sauces. Or buffalo wings and ranch, whatev. David got a Dremel with all the fixins, and we ended up with candle-ie thingies and picture frames. An electric mug I think and some folding chairs. My favorite though is my "communication center" which is a white board/cork board/shelf/cell phone charger/mail holder/key hook thing. I love it. I had him put it up last night. Finally, a non awkward place to plug in our phones and set our keys!

The kids got their fair share of loot as well. A big freaking fire truck and matching helicopter, a submarine, the Crayola Glow station, a remote controlled CHP car and the Dodge Charger that comes with it so you can have high speed chases in your living room, just a boat load of stuff. Including a tube of little boats. Wade was also very happy to have gotten a football. "A wootbowl! A wootbowl! I got a wootbowl!" He's got a good arm and he's built like a quarterback. He's going to be a crusher, we can already see it.

I like how Christmas turned out this year because it was smaller. Less stuff to cart home, which is nice when you drive a Mazda. There was no big ticket item this year, was there? Some of the kids over at my family's house got Guitar Hero, which David played for like 12 hours straight. I attempted to play it a few times, but I'm more like a Guitar Failure than a Guitar Hero. That shit is hard.

I'm relatively thankful that this isn't a full recession because I don't know that I could knit that many things for that many people in time, but I'm going to start stocking up, because I do dream of a day when socks and hats and scarves will be the hottest thing to receive at Christmas time.

My scarves this year by the way? The ones that I knit for obscure relatives that I never even see and just give to my sister so she can deliver them? Were loved. And in exchange, I got a two pound box of See's and some nuts from Hickory Hell (used to work there, hated it, but love the goodies.) Plus David got gifts from a bunch of old ladies at The Cans, so we have a huge tin of cookies and boxes of chocolates and shit like that. Lots of home made goodies this year from them as well.

One of you guys is going to have to get over here and help me eat all this damn candy. Seriously, we should have a tea party, because if there's anything else I have a shit load of it's tea.

And now, Christmas is gone. My tree and decorations are all put away, and I'm playing musical crap as I take things out of boxes. And my house is still a mess because of those boxes. Things should return to normal by the morrow, and if not, well, then I guess I'm just lazy. *shrugs*

Taking apart Christmas is a hell of a lot of work though.

The Burning Question

Yes pictures, yes loot, yes grand stories to come, but it's the loot that is going to have me busy for the next several hours in regards to removal of outer packaging and playing musical crap until it all fits in my apartment, and it's already past 11:00 no thanks to a game of Monopoly that WOULD NOT FUCKING END!

And so, until I can give you a proper post, I present the comment question of the day:

Who would you lip lock with for three solid minutes under the mistletoe?

Could be anybody in the world. Answer below!

And merry merry to all of you. Love yuns.

Merry Christmas To All And To All A Good Night

Your Christmas gift is over here, slick. Chapters 8, 9, and 10 of Bombshell (raw unedited first edition stuff)

Peeked Interest

I've had every opportunity to peek at my gifts. In fact, there's nothing stopping me from doing it right now. I know that he's hiding something in his sock drawer because he vehemently protested when I went to open it to put socks away. "Stay the fuck out of my sock drawer!"

"Why?"

"There's spiders in there."

Spiders. Like the spiders in our closet that we made up to keep the kids out of there. I could go look for the spiders right now, but I really have no desire to.

We gave the kids some money to buy us some gifts, and I didn't even peek in the bag to see what they bought. I just handed the bag to Ty with some tissue paper, bows, and tape and had him wrap the stuff in his room.

We went shopping yesterday, partially to spend our gift certificates and also so David could buy me something. Apparently the sock drawer spiders are all for my stocking, and I had no actual gifts. David doesn't really have a lot of time to go out and buy things in secret, plus I've been the one spending the present money. We split up in the store, he paid for something and we left with it. We didn't do big gifts this year because the car is sort of our shiny new thing, and we don't really need anything else shiny and new right now.

If we had money to spend like fools, I would want cameras, mostly. A Digital Rebel and a new point and shoot, probably a little Jr. version of my Powershot. Maybe one of those baby tiny laptops that run Linux and only come with a few programs since they're made for internet use only. A new cell phone. Instead I just said "don't spend too much" and "go for things that only you can buy me." Things he knows I'd appreciate. I'd of bought him gift certificates to the massage place and a really nice electric shaver.

From other people we asked for useful things. My sister bought me a new set of pots and pans because I still have my Big Lots set from when I first turned 18 and moved out. She also got him a gift certificate to Big 5 so he could go buy a good pair of running shoes, like a GOOD pair. Buying shoes for David is not easy because he's a 13 EE 13EEEE. Also he needed GOOD shoes because on one of his ride alongs the cop looked at his running shoes and said "I went up to academy with almost the exact same pair of shoes...and I ended up needing shin splints" or some shit like that, I don't know. Bad shoes are bad for you, so GOOD shoes are required. He ended up finding a pair of Asics in 13EEEE with gel all in them, regularly priced at $80 but he got them for $50. He had money left on his gift card and there's not really anything else at Big 5 for him to ever buy, so he told me to grab a pair of slippers because he was going to buy me some at Target but he forgot. He said I didn't have to wait till Christmas to have them.

He also took me to See's Candy to fill a one pound box, something that he said he was also planning to do on his own, but since I was there I might as well pick my own stuff. I got a box of Bordeaux, raspberry cream, strawberry cream, and orange cream, my favorites.

And as for the reason as to why I was with him, it's because my sister gave me a Michael's gift certificate for my birthday along with some delicious assorted teas (ever have gunpowder green tea?) so he said I should go with him to spend it. I got a bunch of yarn for projects that I intend to make for myself ONLY. The lime green wool will be a cabled hat. The sock yarn will stripe up really cool for a good pair of socks, and I think the bamboo (which is super soft) will be some kind of shrug or shawl.

David wont read this, or I wont let him if he tries because I don't want him to peek, but I got him a collection of small things. A new wallet with our pictures inside because his smells like Trident which makes him nauseous now after Wade ate an entire packet of the gum in secret and then threw it up all over the place, and David's wallet smells like Wade's gum puke puddle. I got him some Guess one from Ross so it was really cheap, like $11 or something. I got him the Car Ramrod shirt from Bustedtees and I mostly forget what else. RC helicopters, though I wrote "the three boys" on the tag so he has to share. For his stocking I know I got him a field guide on birds because he's into that shit, and a "hobo tool" that I found in the camping section at Wal Mart. It's like a Swiss Army Spoon, seriously, it's got a fork and knife attachment and a cork screw thing and a nail file thing, everything a hobo could need to eat a meal or stab something in the neck. And since he's always eating food that hobos bring him and he lives in a giant metal box all day, I thought it was fitting. I also got him several Sterno fuel cans, cheap warmth. I actually wanted to get him one of those big fire pits but he keeps insisting that he cannot be lighting fires in a parking lot. I don't see why not though.

I had a good birthday this year, and I got a lot of "in between" presents to enjoy along with my trip up the mountain. I don't really want to peek at my gifts because I can wait to be surprised.

Naked Pico And Purdy Purdy Snow

My 25th birthday...well I have nothing to pine over regarding the usual and expected suckage due to lack of its existence and all this year, because I definitely will not be forgetting this one.

We last left off shortly after I got a text message from my old band boy friend Pico who is a Marine these days saying that he was bored and so I said he could come over because I was bored too and hanging out with him as opposed to knitting and listening to more of Twilight would be a better way to spend my birthday. He said he'd bring booze, and I said that was okay, I'd watch him get drunk.

Mistake isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

He drank vodka and Red Bull and spoke with a Russian accent the whole night. He stammered. He drank more vodka and Red Bull. He says he's done with the military and intends to leave when his four years are up next year. And he kept drinking.

After he spilled his woes to me about the military, David finally came home with pizza just in the nick of time, as Pico was beginning to describe his penor to me. Of all things. It curves upwards slightly? What is my opinion on strap ons? When is the neighbor coming home?

The neighbor, by the way, wants nothing to do with these "boys" I keep as friends. "They're cute but still is boys."

Anyway, they wore the party hats I bought at Dollar Tree and Pico never once offered me a drink because he knows I don't like booze...or he's selfish, whatevs.

And then he began to lament about being an alcoholic. "There's no reason for me to stop, but I know I need to. And they said I have to take anger management courses."

"Who said that?" I asked him.

"My dad...the doctor..." The policeman, the judge...etc.

And then he began to remove clothing. Now, I took this shot in the beginning of the ordeal thinking "hey, this is rare and funny, he's got a party hat on his dinger." Only it progressively worsened beyond this point. The boxers came down. The hoodie came off. The alcohol continued to be poured into his Red Bull.

It was somewhat amusing.

He sat on my couch with his shirt and the little hat for the longest time just laughing and telling stories. Then he started saying "I'll take off my shirt if you guys do."

"We're not taking off our shirts."

"Okay well I'll just take off my shirt then, it's okay man, I'm comfortable around you two."

And eventually, when David got up to go to the bathroom, he snapped the little elastic string on the hat. Lookie there.

And now I had naked Pico on my couch lamenting about being an alcoholic and complaining about military life. He drank and tried to convince us that clothing was just an awkward and uncomfortable little thing that us stupid humans invented, and that being naked is natural. "I've just never been comfortable enough in front of anybody to actually do this."

He kept throwing around the idea of a threesome. We said no threesome. He persisted. We said no threesome. Eventually he stagered around the house looking for his pants, which were in the kitchen naturally, and he dropped a bunch of money and a receipt on the floor. He spent $40 on that vodka and Red Bull.

Around 4:00 in the morning we cut him off. He almost finished that bottle of vodka and he was definitely starting to be "drunk" rather than buzzed, or comfortably numb. He slept curled up on my loveseat sans pants and blanket, though I'm glad he was wearing his boxers because my kids would come out in the morning and, well...it was awkward enough when Ty asked me why there was a man in our living room. He had seen him a few nights ago when he stopped by so it wasn't a total shock but he was confused as to why he was there. At least he was wearing pants.

By 10:00 when we left to go take the kids to my sister's he said he hadn't quite sobered up yet and couldn't drive, but it's not like we would have let him stay, and we had somewhere to be so we couldn't hang around all day. So he staggered over to Sally's door and asked if he could hang out with her. Oh my god. She said yes, and she closed the door behind her.

She wouldn't.

I'm pretty sure she wouldn't. In fact I'm fairly certain that she didn't.

Eventually he sobered up and went home, and that's...well that's the end of that tale I suppose. I don't think we'll have Pico back, he's just too much of a liability/responsibility/pain in the ass. But funny, and he has gigantic balls, I have to admit.

It's hard not to stare at a crotch.

So then David and I went on our date, the one that he had planned to make happen on our anniversary, the one that he intended to buy advance tickets for and put them in a pretty envelope for me to open on Christmas morning, but his dad the blabber mouth spoiled his plans by asking me "Why was Dave asking about the tram ride the other day?"

Photo blog time!

So the tram is in Palm Springs, about a half hour drive from where we live. Palm Springs is the place where they have a bunch of these things...

I've said this a hundred times, but it wouldn't be so windy in Blowmont if they just turned off these stupid fans, amiright?

Anyway, this is the tram car...

It holds 80 people, it goes up Mt. San Jacinto at about eight to ten miles per hour, and the floor freakin' rotates. The old cars were much smaller and they didn't do the spinny thing. Mt. San Jac is about 10,600 feet high, so the view on the way up is really amazing.

You can see Nevada from here

And once you get to the top, it looks like this...

Hey doesn't this rock look like it has a skull on it?

Bunny tracks...

And the obligatory self portrait...

I knit both hats and David's sweater that he's wearing under the hoodie.

So yes, I had a great birthday this year, thank you for the birthday comments and the few voice comments that I got, one of which was emailed because I hear the uploading process was bum.

I'll Explain Later

I was up until 4:00 AM because I ended up having a wild birthday party and some crazy shit went down, and I'm very tired so I'll explain this video later.

Oh Bla Di

David sent me a text message from work right at midnight to tell me happy birthday. About an hour later he came home with a Wal Mart bag with a few more random toys for the kids, and for me a fizzing bath bomb thing and a 3 Musketeers. Only there was something wrong with that candy bar because it was hard as a rock. Since when is fluffy nougat all hard and nasty like that? So that was a bummer. But I did take a bath at like 2:00 in the morning and the fizzy bath bomb made the water all purple, it was special. I was waiting for steak. Yeah, steak at 2 AM because my man loves me.

Except that chewing steak these days is quite hard for me because I have a number of dental problems that I cant fix until he gets those awesome CHP health bennefits, so I ate part of it and mostly just squished the steamed veggies around with my tongue to make up for all the hard work I had to do for the steak.

The kids hugged me this morning, then Ty proceeded to cry like a little baby all day long over practically nothing. David instructed me to go to Wal Mart and buy myself the best pair of pants they sell. I found them. They were $22. I now own two pairs of pants. Hazaah! I also bought a sweater. And a pregnancy test...not pregnant, which is good because I might have a drink with David on his birthday in a week. And I finished buying Christmas things, like stuff for David's stocking. I Christmas shop on my birthday, do you?

I also went grocery shopping at Fresh and Easy. I bought a ham and a two pack of pink "princess" cupcakes because I'm the fucking princess today. The poppets are hanging out with one of them. I havent eaten them yet. I ate a bunch of Fig Newtons instead because I'm lame. Oh and I bought sparkeling cyder! WIN! The girl there at the store made me take a survey, asking me how much I like or loathe the prices, freshness, and friendliness of the staff. I gave her a B grade on the friendliness of the staff because there's this one super tall creepy guy there who is such an asshole. He totally got pissed at me because I wasnt scanning and bagging my stuff fast enough and it was causing the conveyer belt to beep or something. Then dude, you come over and HALP me so it doesnt pile up like that! That's why Stater's has a person to check and a person to bag. This place is all YOU and therefore shit doesnt get done very fast, you know? Anyway she asked my age, and I said 25, and said "it's my burfday today." She told me happy burfday, and asked why I am grocery shopping on my burfday. I said because I'm lame and we need food? I dunno, what else is there to do?

A guy on Flickr said that I have "outstanding jugs."

Mustang Sally brought me European chocolates and a candle holder thing, which is nice, but I told her not to buy me anything. She sheepishly bought her ex-fiance a $65 bong for his birthday a few days ago AND threw him a party. But it's nice that I was thought of. And yes, my sister emailed me this morning. And she said she'd babysit so we could go to the tram, so it looks like that's still on.

So how is 25? Not much different from 24 or 23 except I have a better car and my skin is like really really awesome. I started using the age defying soaps and shit last year in order to thwart aging for a little while, and I only care because I don't wear makeup, so I have to keep up the appearances with my skin and hair as long as possible, though I intend to age gracefully and naturally. You wont find me investing in cosmetic surgery.

But I'm not very youthful. I'm tired, almost all the time, and my mouth is seriously in shambles. I shop at Fresh and Easy now because I'm trying to eat as good as possible because that is essentially my only "health insurance." Low deductible and thousands of Clementine tangerines. I'm at sort of a weird point in my life where I'm no longer a kid but I'm still not quite an "adult" adult. I'm still the little sister, I'm still too young to be a failure, but I'm old enough that it counts.

I intend to just sort of continue on as I've been doing, keeping to myself and observing quietly until something makes me take a stand. THE best thing I have going for me is that I have a really strong and healthy marriage so I don't feel stressed out or anything hard core like that. And suddenly people are flocking to me, and for the first time in a very long time I have a small and secluded social life.

Except that the one person I thought would be here jumping naked out of a cake or trying to push an overly expensive and unnecessary gift on me didn't even bother to call. It made me shrug.

But Pico, the cute band boy Marine is coming over to keep me company. He's getting drunk here and spending the night. My kids will come out in the morning and find him passed out on my couch and be like "Santa?"

Hey, at least it's almost like having a party. Maybe I'll go eat my cupcake now before the booze gets here.

A Very Merry Unbirthday To You

My birthday is tomorrow the 20th. But Jesus is the reason for the season (even though they think he was actually born in May) so this actually means nothing. Also I'm turning 25. I think that means I can rent a car. I have never purchased alcohol. I've been to two bars but they were strip clubs and I drank Coke.

Nothing will happen. I wont get presents, because then I'll have nothing to open on Christmas. David is still planning to take me to the tram on Sunday, but our plans almost always fall through for one reason or another so I'm not really keeping my hopes up. Steppy will probably try to kiss and/or grope me. I might get an email from my sister. I went and bought myself a pack of party hats and blower things.

Actually on second thought I shouldn't have put that in my mouth, it came from the dollar store.

Come by my house today and I will give you a hat to wear and give you something to blow on, how about that?

Oh one time a boy gave me a brick of cheese for my birthday at school, and a girl bought me a super slutty shirt that I never actually got to wear because it was like, for serious, stripperwear. Like Tupperware, but you know, sluttier.

And my blog buddies always say nice things to me, and I like that. So I'm providing the voice comment option today, everybody leave one. Or if you don't want to do the voice comment, call me personally (951 345 2762) or just leave something below in the regular comments. Cheer my ass up.

And rate this post one star for good measure. How dare my birth distract from the true meaning of Christmas!

Aint No Party Like A Band Geek Party

Some people never change.

You can blow them up in Iraq, they can loose their virginity to OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE HE LOST IT TO HER!, you can cover them in tattoos...



They can grow up a little bit into band "men," but they'll still come over to your house and harass your bird...



Light themselves on fire...



And hover bare assed over your cookie jar because he thinks that the fudge I made resembles poo...



Now he's all Marined-out and he challenges David the cop to pushups....



But Pico is still Pico, and always will be Pico.

Twi-Fail And Impending Band Boys!

Ty: "Wade, I ate some snow. Did you eat some snow too?"

Wade (lactose intolerant redhead): "A-no, I didn't a-eat, a-the snow, because it, a-has milk in it."

That's really how he talks, but isn't that the funniest dern thing?

Anyway, this is a comment I left on my own blog this morning in response to Debi's remarks about Twilight.

Actually Debi I'm not enjoying Twilight as much as I once was, I'm probably half way through now. They're in the forest and he's trying not to eat her face.
So far it's been "Edward is beautiful. Oh Edward. He's a vampire and I'm okay with that because he smells good."
There had better be a point to this. I hate Bella. She whines too much and I hate the damsel in distress thing, like one time is okay but for her to always be in trouble and then he comes and rescues her?
I want him to take the bitch out, just totally gnaw on her brains and get it over with. Please tell me that's what happens!

I'm not enchanted by the story anymore, and I'm to the middle. Usually in the middle is where I become enthralled in a book because I've gotten the flow of the writing and I'm relating to the characters or at least becoming attached to them. This is the first book I've ever read where I hate the main character. Don't get me wrong, I do like the descriptive writing and Stephenie Meyer pulls off the first person thing way better than I ever could through a character, and she is skilled in the ways of time travel. I haven't mastered time travel yet, but she makes it smooth.

I'm kind of seeing in Twilight how NOT to write a book because the characters are all flat and predictable and whiny little bitches. Even Edward is a whiny little bitch. JUST EAT HER FACE ALREADY! No, he cant, because it's "too hard." And if I could just reach through the book and slap him for enabling her every time she pulls the damsel in distress card, I would. He needs to let her get pummeled by a falling boulder or something so she'll learn. The way she's always falling down so clumsy reminds me of Susan Meyer from Desperate Housewive's terrible acting. She says she didn't run from the guys in the alley because she falls down a lot when she runs. Complete retard, that's all I have to say.

Plus her research is all wrong. At one point she mentions "the Romanian varacolaci" which she simply says was a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful pale-skinned human, AND IT IS WRONG. I asked the neighbor. Not only did she spell it wrong (actually spelled vârcolac,) but it is actually more like a werewolf. She said that their bodies turn in their graves and their spirits turn into vicious animals that bite humans. Nothing like talking to a real vampire Romanian to learn the real truth about things in books. I even had her check out the Wikipedia article on it, and she said it's mostly false (no surprise) and said that the true meaning is the wolf demon thing.

I dont usually give reviews for books before I'm finished with them, but I want to let you all know of my troubles with this book.

I intend to listen to the rest of it, because I still have to finish a set of Christmas ornaments and a big long scarf and also David is whining like a lost puppy for a hat with ear flaps, and I will probably listen to the rest of the series. I'm making a set of nine ornaments to give to one person, three angels, three stars, and three bells as you see here except that I'm also making a silver set and a pure white set. This is the gold set. The thing with all this knitting though is that I'm letting the house work go. But I will have you know that I intended to do laundry last night but it was snowing and I opened the door and hello, shutup, goodbye, I said fuck laundry.

But at least I see the problem and take an hour to go do something about it. I stopped writing this so I could vacuum and get a few loads going. The children are doing the dishes for me, which I love. They'll never grow up fast enough. How I long for the days when they will be able to use heavy machinery. Not that I use a lot of heavy machinery while cleaning, but, you know...like plows and chainsaws. I dont know. They help with the laundry pretty good.

I had to clean up because company is coming over. Boys. Band boys. Band boys smell. Perhaps I should make cookies?

Well no, fuck that.

Stand by for band boy pictures.

Baby It's Bad Out There

It's been raining and snowing all day long intermittently, though nothing is sticking because the ground is so wet. It's windy and the last few leaves that are clinging for dear life to the trees are being picked off with the heavy gusts. Am I potentially looking at White Birthday? No, they say it's going to warm up again on Friday so by Saturday I'll be putting my hand knit scarves and hats back in the red wicker basket on David's dresser.

He's promising to take me to the Palm Springs aerial tramway on Sunday, which takes you up Mt. San Jacinto in a tiny box hanging from some cables. It drops you off at a valley with miles of hiking trails and as I recall there is a little brook up there. There's also a restaurant up there and we intend to do the "ride and dine" so we will be eating there after we walk around in the snow for a while. David has never been to the tram and I went twice when I was 10, once with my foster family and once on a field trip. Sometimes it gets really windy and the cables get crossed and the tram car gets stuck out there forever while a guy climbs on top to uncross them, it's all very dangerous and claustrophobic, but what a great photo op, eh?

Today is not a good day to be a can jockey, and it's days like today that reminds us why the company pays well over minimum wage just for the can jockey to sit there and read books and rock out to Metallica all day long. Oh and scowl at people, there's lots of scowling. I brought him a blanket and an extra sweater and an extra scarf, and after I dropped Ty off at school I went to the store to buy chicken noodle soup stuff then just had him drop me off at home so he could live in the car. He hadn't had a single customer all day long anyway, so he might as well just park next to his bin and stay in the car and turn it on for heat every once in a while. He's reading the first Twilight book, which I bought for myself, but because of all of these damn Christmas presents I have to knit I am listening to the "book on tape" (pirated versions uploaded to Youtube) while making scarves and hats and tiny little angels.

I'm almost done with my knitted gifts. I know that knitting gifts isn't as easy as buying for some of you, but look at it this way. The yarn for this scarf cost me $5, now what other decent gifts can you give for $5? Honestly? This scarf has a rather interesting story, as I worked on it at the funeral and then while watching anime porns...I don't know if you've ever seen anime porns but they're funny, and not knowing what they're saying the whole time makes it so much funnier. We watched one that was dubbed with English and it sucked because we knew what was going on. The thing is that this particular scarf was worked with a very very plain and basic stitch because it was more about the pattern of the yarn than what tricks I could do with my needles, so it gets boring after a while and you need something else to occupy your mind, and since we don't have TV, only internet...well, you find things to watch. Oh but I am very much liking the audio book thing, I should have thought of it sooner.

I'm not the only one. A lot of knitters listen to science lectures while they knit. I prefer long drawn out video blogs of people rambling on about their day. Usually I'll sift through the most discussed-people and blogs list on Youtube, but for the past few days all that is filled with is Bush getting a shoe thrown at him or some idiot commenting on Bush getting a shoe thrown at him. I'm subscribed to my fair share of doomsayers, conspiracy theorists, and economic strategists, but my favorites are people like MelsBasketCase (now TrollHamsterLeader) and TheAmazingAtheist because they ramble. Mel usually starts reading a book half way through and Amazing Atheist talks in circles using really big impressive words. Just the thing to tune into when you're knitting six feet of garter stitch.

Front page of the Local Plus section of the Press Enterprise a few days ago showed a picture of a lady knitting a hat, and the article was about people doing a lot of home made gifts this year. I try not to do it every year because as much as I love being the crazy aunt who always knits things for your birthday I don't like to look like a one trick pony. And people cant really use a whole lot of hats and scarves around here, but when we have the weather we're having and they're suddenly thankful for Crazy Auntie Jessie's scarves. I figure one every few years should suffice, and will slowly give people enough scarves in their wardrobe that they can wear a different one for each day of the year that it ends up being cold.

I myself only own two scarves and three hats, plus a jacket I knit. David has more than me because I try to keep him warm.

I get a lot of people leaving comments saying that they wish they knew how to knit. Honestly, the best advice I can give you is the advice that David used to learn how (he taught me after he learned it) and that is to go to KnittingHelp.com. There are videos there teaching you how to do EVERYTHING you need to know to teach yourself at home, and they're free. I still go there on occasion to figure out something if I come across a weird instruction. You'll make a lot of blobby things full of holes at first but you'll catch on if you really want to learn. It's probably too late to start ugly scarf collections for your family this holiday, but you can practice for next year, right?

Every family needs a knitter to humor and pat on the head when they open the box full of what you hoped would be a scarf at one point. Be that knitter. One day, they'll be sorry they ever doubted you, and then you can laugh at them as they shiver and you're wrapped up in rows and rows of perfectly stitched non itchy wool.

What?

It Occurred To Me, My Boy Was Just Like Me

The kindergarteners had a Christmas recital tonight. They sang Santa Clause Is Comin' To Town, the Bruce Springsteen version no less.



And I realized tonight for the first time, that my kid is THAT kid. Which kid you ask? Well...







Yes. THAT kid. Oh but he sang nice too...







SPASTIC ARM MOVEMENTS!



They also sang Feliz Navidad, and they muddled through most of the "prospero ano y felicidad" part, but Ty wants to wish you a merry Christmas from the bottom of his heart...

Don't Tell Me How To Feel

It rained today, ALL DAY LONG. And the streets flood in Beaumont every time it rains because the city was designed without enough storm drains, because this is California and it doesn't rain here, except that it does rain here and when it does it pours and we have flash flooding. But David delivers pizzas tonight so I'm sure he'll make a killing in tips. He tends to milk the job for what it's worth on nights like this, purposely not using an umbrella and standing outside of his car for a moment longer than he needs to so he can get extra soaked, then shivering when they open the door. Looking all sad. He made $80 the other night when it was in the 30's and he only went on like 12 deliveries.

The Good Sergeant today said that we're still looking at February for when he will be invited to academy. I think it has become real to him now, because he's been walking around all day kind of off kilter and repeating "I'm leaving in February. How is this going to work? We need to save up for my train ticket. How are you going to pay rent on March 1st if I don't get paid till March 8th? How are you ever going to get any sleep being alone for the first time in six years? What will the boys do when I'm gone?"

I think it hit him.

It still hasn't hit me yet, and that bothers me.

All I know is he's going to keep working throughout this time, and when he gets his invitation he is going to quit his jobs. He will still have paychecks coming to him when he quits. I think we need to make a call to the Good Sergeant to ask him how this generally works, because he's right. How AM I going to pay rent on the 1st if he gets paid on the 8th?

Besides the money stuff, which I'm sure we'll figure out somehow, I'm actually just glad that I finally made some friends. Otherwise? Yeah, I might go crazy and start talking to plants. I can hang out with my neighbor and ask her to check for boogie men under my bed, and now I can go hang out with the Jasso family since they've accepted me back into their clan. And there's always the blog. (hi.)

And I take offense to the notion that one person suggested, "Steppy's waiting for David to leave so he can pounce." Okay, and if he does, he's dead to me. Is that some kind of suggestion that I'd suddenly become weak without David around and give in? If I haven't given in thus far, why would I suddenly change my game plan just because David went to academy? Seriously, it's six months, which is enough time to make it hurt but not enough time to convince me to let go.

I read these blogs of wives whose husbands went to Iraq, and I feel a little ashamed of admitting that I might be distraught over his six months up north. I have things to be thankful for, like the fact that he's coming back alive and his safety isn't at risk. Then again, this will be my own personal hard time and I'm entitled to feel however I want about it.

I don't know what's going to happen when he goes. I have my ideas, but of course I don't really know for sure, but what I do know is this. Just like always, I am going to write about what is going on, how I feel about it, and how I intend to get through it. I don't want people telling me that I have to be strong or that I need to be more grateful that it's only six months when people are going to Iraq multiple times and sometimes dying.

There is no comparison to someone else's situation because this is my situation, and I am writing about it in a journal. I'm sorry if I'm coming off as bitchy right now, but I am a little frustrated with this. Particularly with a few emails and comments that had me bothered regarding Victor's funeral, saying how I shouldn't go and he doesn't deserve it and I shouldn't be sad for his death.

Do not EVER suggest that I should feel differently. I am a complete emotional retard, and when I do have feelings of some kind about something I do not like to suppress them because at least I'm feeling something...and don't you dare say that's emo because I wish it was that easy. I cant even emotionally prepare myself for David's leaving because I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel and if what I am feeling is normal. And yes, I was sad when Victor died and as I didn't openly cry I did have to wipe my eyes at his funeral, and fuck you if you intend to send me an email about how stupid I am for doing that.

Bottom line is that even if I wanted to construct a gigantic sculpture of him out of hamburger meat and use olives for eyes that is my business. I write about it here because this is my journal. It has nothing to do with how you think I should or should not do things. Unless I ask for your advice, ask you what you think about the idea of a gigantic Hamburger Victor, do not tell me not to construct one.

(That was all hypothetical...though I'm sure the bastard would love a gigantic hamburger meat version of himself.)

Look, I love comments, even the bad ones, because they help. I like advice when it's asked for. I like hearing how you relate to what's going on with me through your own stories, but to suggest that how I am feeling is wrong?

I cant say that it doesn't remind me of the reasons as to why I have a hard time sorting out my feelings in the first place.

Again, if you don't like how I run the show here, unsubscribe. I don't need your readership.

I Meant The Other Scat

Out and about with the Christmas shopping today. Like, we got a tube of toy boats at Michael's for $5 and also an art set there for $3, hardly worth fighting the crowds. There was a violinist outside of Target playing Christmas music. Fucker probably made like $200 just doing that, and as much respect as I do have for the musically talented, I only wish that I had chosen a more practical instrument. Seriously, trombone? You cant go "wah wah wah" outside of Target and make $200. I commend this guy for his smarts.

I love the violin. I love Christmas music. I like to listen to the radio station that plays Christmas music 24/7, except that I hate it when crappy singers take really good classic Christmas songs and ruin them with keyboards and synths and horrible singing. Then Jewel came on singing "Winter Wonderland," and it wasn't so bad. Toward the middle she went off on some kind of unrelated jazzy tangent though.

"Is she speaking another language?" David asks.

"No, I think she's yodeling and scatting."

"She's what?"

"Okay, not THAT kind of scat, but the kind that Wikipedia defines as a kind of vocal improvisation common in jazz."

"I don't think that's what it's called."

"It's called scat. Remember the Scatman?"

"Yeah I saw him on RedTube, that guy's a fucking freak."

"David, no. The Scatman."

"Okay well that guy is just fucking nuts."

"So do you understand the difference between the two scats?"

"Yeah, but why did they have to call it scat? Why is he the scat man? Why didn't they just call him Rambling Joe? Jewel's over there 'Rambling Joe-ing,' not Jewel's over there 'yodeling and scatting,' I mean that just gives me something to go google."

"I'm pretty sure that the other scat came first though."

"No it did not. Scat was originally used to...as like um...animal feces. You know, when you're in the mountains, and you see some scat, it's wild animal shit. That's what it was made for!"

I don't think I have anything more to say to that. I'm sorry.

The Ending Notes Of One Last Song.

It's hard to hold a grudge when a person is dead. My mom wasn't a very good mother and when she was alive I seethed over it. Then she died, and that's sad, and I'll always remember how she would think of people when she was out at the beach and she would pick up seashells for them, or she would see some stuffed animal and drag it back with her because she knew that some person would get a kick out of it. Basically I'm over it. I don't miss her, but I'm over it.

Victor wasn't a very good boyfriend at the end, and there was a lot of bad stuff that went on between us, but the last time we ever spoke to each other we had nice things to say and we were civil if not kind. And maybe for the past six years I only ever recalled how he wronged me, but there was the Victor that I fell in love with, and that's the Victor I will try to remember. I don't need to hold a grudge, I did the right thing and got out before it got too unhealthy for me to stay, and it's not like the bad stuff had that much of an impact on my life, except for the scar on my thigh.

It was a lesson learned for me, because now I appreciate the hell out of how good David is to me.

There was a photo album at the viewing that had a sign next to it saying "free, take some." I took three pictures. One from his 10th grade year when I had first met him, one from his junior year from when he and I were dating (the same picture that I used to keep in my wallet) and one of him and his brother sword fighting with these bamboo practice swords.

I stuck close to the woman who I gave a ride to, which was his old neighbor/his dad's current neighbor. The thing about me speaking...well I didn't want to say this before the funeral, but it wasn't hard to figure out the reason why I wasn't speaking. It wasn't a time thing. I knew that the second Arlene told me. That's okay, I wasn't there to cause trouble or anything for anyone, and if his wife wasn't okay with me speaking then fine, whatever.

The neighbor lady and I wore trench coats, knowing that it would be a tribute to him. Nobody else did. He grew into a different and better person and the trench coat was no longer his thing. I was being eyeballed by some, hugged by others, and actually welcomed by the majority of his close family. Grandma and Grandpa both kissed me and Grandma asked me to call her because she wants me to come sit with her some time, and I will take her up on that offer because I realized how much I miss that family. I've been told that they would drive by my sister's house to see if I'd be there, and they had been wondering about me too. I'm really glad that I can know his family still because I haven't got much of my own.

I went up to look at him. He looked really good. They had his beard trimmed neatly and he had his color and everything. He looked warm. Like he was sleeping. There was an old woman who came and stood over him and started with the rosaries, then said "what was his name?" I thought that was cute. The neighbor lady I was with said that he looked like The Godfather. He was holding a red rose and he had a rosarie necklace laced through his fingers. I was ready for him to sit up any minute and be like "gotcha!" But he didn't, and I'm glad, because only he would find that funny, and I would have smacked him with my purse and yelled at him. "That's not funny, damnit!" "What? Yes it is!"

I went to sit on the back pew because it was still a few hours before everything would actually start. They started showing a slide show of pictures when he was a baby and when he was in school...my face was in it. My face was also on the picture boards. Then his mother, Mona, came over and hugged me and whispered in my ear "thank you for being a part of his life." Oh god. I got all choked up. Hard lump in my throat, tears brimming, but I bit it back. I didn't want to do that yet.

I sat in the cafeteria for a while sipping on lemonade, people recognized me. After a while, people were laughing and smiling. It felt better to be there. Eventually I made my way back to the chapel and the neighbor and I sat together and talked. She's kind of funny, she talked about how we should hold a renegade memorial service for him at Flag Hill Park next week or something so I can read my thing and we can just hang out where he liked to be. Then she got up to go to the bathroom and she was gone for a while. And his bride was hovering in the area. Suddenly I felt pretty um...well...like I shouldn't be there, I didn't belong there, and I got nervous. She didn't even look at me whenever we had crossed paths thus far, and Arlene told me to steer clear. And so I...and so I...

I started knitting. Look, maybe that's not appropriate but it was just during the viewing, and people all around me were talking, laughing, on their cell phones, all that stuff. I mean, if I'm going to stick out then I might as well be doing something, right? Scold me if you will, but I freaked. I'm not good at social stuff, particularly when I'm already walking on egg shells...and high heels because Mustang Sally dressed me. Oh by the way, she wouldn't let me wear what I picked, she made me wear a shirt of hers with a sheer shirt over it, all black, and the high heel boots. And you'll be proud that I didn't fall over once today.

Eventually the lady came back to sit with me. She said that the bride's family were looking at me, trying to figure out who I was. If I was her. I just kept to my knitting.

The service was very pretty. Some really nice words were said, some good stories were told. And when Arlene told the story that I wrote in my speech about him hushing me to hear the silence of the desert, she told it dramatically. And she cried the whole time she was up there and it made my eyes prick with tears. I tell you, I didn't actually shed a tear until we bowed our heads and the director said, "Think of the first time that you saw Victor, what was he wearing?" Well, his green trench coat, glasses, I thought. He was at the bus stop outside of the school. "Think about a time that he made you laugh." When I asked him to teach me how to fight with those sticks, and he acted like he was going to so we went to the back yard, but then he just kept grabbing oranges off the tree and smacking them over the fence. He'd act like that was the last one and he was going to show me something, but he'd just smack another orange. This went on for like 20 minutes. I gave up trying to learn anything that day.

"Think of a time when you knew he was your friend." When he sat next to me on the bus to cheer me up after I had broken up with my previous boyfriend. "There there, things will turn out all right, you'll see," he said in a cartoonish voice. I gave him my number when I signed his yearbook, and he ended up calling me a few weeks after school let out to ask if I wanted to hang out with him at Flag Hill Park. I'm like, "Who is this?" and he said it was Victor from the bus stop. Oh that guy, yeah I'll hang out.

"Forgive him for something...and ask him to forgive you if you need to."

That's going to stay between he and I now.

I was nervous about going to the reception at his grandma's house, but I was assured it would be okay. Oh god, I missed Josie's cooking, authentic Mexican food. There was some spicy chili con carne stuff, I just loved it and ate every last bite. My god. One of his aunts recognized me, and she came and sat with me and talked to me about Victor for a while. She wanted to know what I remembered of him, and if I ever thought that he was unhealthy. She was really kind, I think she saw the plight I was in, and she was sympathetic. I appreciate that.

And then, just as I was getting ready to go, Victor's bride broke through the crowd and said hello to me. We shook hands and held on for a few moments, and she apologized for not coming to say hi sooner, and I said I didn't blame her or hold anything against her. We were talking for a while about him, she was really nice. And I'm glad that she said hi because I'm glad that Victor ended up marrying a nice girl who took care of him.

We all move on. I'm happy as a freaking clam with David...the phrase is clam right? Not clown? I hate clowns. I made no mistake in not going back with him the many times that he called me up and begged me, I am where I'm supposed to be, and for whatever it's worth I'm glad I was there today. I'm going to file the pictures and the little handout thing and his obit away in my filing cabinet. And I'm going to read Fight Club again as soon as I'm done with my current read.

Bye Victor.

A Hard Time Understanding

I read the eulogy out loud to Steppy because he knew who the trench coat guy was. We all went to school together, and Victor was hard to miss. Steppy was one of the kids who thought he was up to no good in that trench coat, and tried to convince me to break up with him back in the day for probably more than one reason.

Steppy doesn't understand why I'm getting involved.

I read the eulogy out loud to David, and he said that it sounded made up. This is because David only knows the bad things about Victor, because that's all I've ever said about him. To reveal that there was a lighter side to him made David call bullshit, and furthermore said that if it is true, then he doesn't understand how he could have been so bad of a guy, because he actually sounded kind of cool.

And David doesn't understand why I'm getting involved.

I probably shouldn't.

Arlene called me to tell me that because the service is only an hour long and there are so many people speaking, they would not be able to throw me in last minute after all. This after I even asked how long or short and they said "however long you want."

Frankly, I feel quite relieved.

It really is a lot of pressure to be "the ex girlfriend" who he probably talked just as bad about as I did him, and then have to get up in front of everyone and be all "Hi, I haven't seen you people in seven years but lol, Victor sure was a special guy, eh?" But Arlene wanted me to send her what I wrote so she could try to work in what she could to her speech or something. She said to put the really important parts in bold.

"But there are no really important parts that stand out to me, I just wrote it and it all just came tumbling out. It is what it is."

It is what it is, and if any of it makes it through the final cut, or even if it doesn't, I feel better for getting that out at least. It's always better to forget grudges by trying to override those sour memories with the good ones.

I'm still going tomorrow, because he did shape my life and I was invited to be there, and also because his brother Alec said that I HAVE TO GO, there's no way out of it. I thanked Arlene for trying so hard to contact me because I would not have tried to contact them because of how awkward it is. But now that it's been established that I'm going, I really don't expect any hard feelings from anyone because this isn't about me, it's about him, and if they want to hate me later and call me something because I had the audacity to show up at his funeral, whatever. And if on the off chance that anyone does make a remark, I'll probably just bite my lip and leave. I don't want to interfere.

And now I have to plan my outfit. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad I hate trying to figure out clothes, you know how bad at this I am. My black dress is too short. My purple and black dress/tunic thing makes for slutty cleavage, and as much as Victor liked boobs, I'm not sure that it would help with the low key thing I intend to pull off now that I'm just going to be one of the crowd. Remember this black white and red number that I bought for book signings and such? See, I think it might be okay, but then I've read that wearing the color red to the funeral is like obnoxiously rude or something. It's mocking. Now the top isn't all red, and the classic black is there, so is it all right? Help me out!

Furthermore, if you're conflicted on the red, I do intend to borrow a trench coat from the neighbor to wear for the service as sort of a tribute over the outfit so it wont be totally out in the open. I don't have any jewelry from him and I don't have anything that he gave me besides the books that I was going to use in my eulogy as visual aids, so I thought that a trench coat might just be a mighty fine salute.

And the neighbor has plenty of trench coats. She drives to her boyfriends's houses in them wearing nothing underneath. I know this because she told me. That's how she introduced me to her collection. "And this one I wore all the way to San Diego, and I thought, 'what I'm gonna do if I get pulled over?' but then I answer my own thinking, what I'm gonna do if I get pulled over."

If she ever gets famous, I'll steal the coats and sell them on Ebay for perverts to buy.

So what say you, internets? What would you wear, knowing the gist of what I own?

His Eulogy, I Wrote

I spent the day with Big Vic and Arlene, they were really happy to see me. Truth be told, I was happy to see them too. Just not under these circumstances. But for what it's worth, they told me that I have a unique perspective of Victor because of the time in his life that I knew him. They said I cleaned him up and kept him on track. Well, I tried anyway. He was such a shape shifter that it was hard to know if he was following a good path or waiting for the next chance at randomn destruction.

They asked me what music he liked, and if I thought that he would like to be cremated. They said that he had been ill for a long time, some virus that attacked his heart that caused a stroke, and he eventually had a heart attack and went into a coma, and he let go on Sunday with his family at his side.

*heavy sigh*

Even though things did not end well with him and me, they say that I helped shape his life into what it was. I cannot disagree with that. And the thing is, I did like him at some point, or else I would not have dated him. What was it that I liked in him so much?

I told Arlene, his step mom, that I do not intend to make this mushy or sappy. I said that I was going to make them smile, and they love that idea. They called every Terwilliger in the phone book before finally one of David's aunts answered the phone and forwarded her to my father in law, and she emailed me, AND she messaged me on Myspace, because they knew what I bring to the table, and they like it. Of course his dad wondered if it would be awkward, but Arlene insisted that I be at least notified because I was Victor's first and only girlfriend before he met his wife. When my response was warm, it went from there to me sitting down tonight to write some kind words for him.

I know they still have questions about who Victor was on the inside, and I do want to answer those questions as best as I can without making anyone too terribly sad because Victor would not want anyone to be sad. Yes Arlene, I'm sure that he not only wanted to be cremated, but shot out of a canon or something. Send his ashes to space or turn him into fireworks. Use him for some kind of horrible prank that only he could cook up in his mind.

I gave this my best, and I'm not really looking for critiqies or suggestions, it just is what it is. This is what I will be saying at his funeral on Saturday.

I stand before you today because I’m told that I helped to shape Victor’s short life in the years that I knew him. Victor Jasso was some weirdo in a trench coat that I dated back in high school. Do you remember when he wore a trench coat? At first he had a ratty old green one that made him look a little like a homeless person, and for a while he pinned a picture of Tigger from Winnie The Pooh to the lapel and wrote the word “hero” beneath it. He wore small framed glasses and kept his hair about ear length and combed to the sides. I knew him before the beard, before his contact lenses, but well after the moustache.
I knew Victor at a time in his life when he was going through a lot of fascinating changes that were prompted by his need to be rejected. Not accepted, but rejected. You see, Victor liked to bend reality to his own needs as much as possible. He was a troubled guy with self esteem issues, like every other teenaged boy in the history of the world, but instead of letting what he felt was his shortcomings define him, Victor decided to define himself. He decided that he didn’t want people to dislike him for the things that he disliked about himself, he wanted them to dislike him for all of the distractions that he used to shield those imperfections. Hense, the trench coat.

People were suspicious of trench coats back when I was in school. For one thing, this is Southern California, and when is the weather ever “trench coat weather?” But perhaps most importantly, back when I first knew Victor, some kids a few states over who decided to take their anger and sadness out on their classmates wore trench coats, and so when Victor decided to put one on, it put fear in the students at Yucaipa High School. Was that weirdo in the trench coat the next school shooter? The next Unibomber? Was he plotting the destruction of the school?

The answer is no. Victor wore a trench coat because he wanted you to think these things, but they weren’t at all true. I know this because I saw right through that trench coat. I saw what was hiding underneath and for some reason that I will never be able to explain to you, I liked him. Maybe it’s because he thought outside the box like that, and wanted to push people away rather than draw them in. Maybe it’s the way that he defeated any potential bullies by creating a Victor Jasso that he would allow people to pick on because it wasn’t really him.

The real Victor was actually very shy. He hated having his picture taken. It took a lot of trust for him to open up to you, but once he did, he really let you understand him…for about five minutes. Once you thought you had Victor figured out, Victor would change. He was somewhat of a shape shifter. But again, these were all just more layers, more trench coats to hide under. He would get upset because he said that his family didn’t understand him. And you know what? He was completely backwards on that. He didn’t understand how his family was still able to see who he was under that coat, how they could still love him despite the bad guy he was trying to convince them that he was.

Victor was surrounded by people who loved him and who accepted every bit of him. And maybe he never expressed it very often, but he loved his family as well. You could tell by the way that he still referred to himself as Lil’ Vic to his aunts and uncles despite his gargantuan size in comparison to his father “Big Vic.” He was lucky enough to have an aunt, Lisa I believe, who agreed to call him Joey because he didn’t like the name Victor when he was little. And he was lucky enough to have his grandmother Josie who bought him a brand spanking new black trench coat right when he needed it most: a bright and sunny April afternoon.

Who else in this world would buy their California grown grandson a trench coat in April? A grandmother who accepted him and loved him despite his strange ways that he chose to define who he wanted to be. More importantly, a grandmother who knew he didn’t really need one. Victor wanted you to believe that he was a weirdo in a trench coat that maybe he stole off of a homeless guy or something heartless like that, when in actuality, “tough guy’s” Grannie bought it for him. And if that little fact had slipped out and became known around the school, he wouldn’t have denied it, he would have gone with it. Either that or he would deny that she bought it, and tell people that she stole it off of a homeless guy or something heartless like that.

In other words, you would never get the upper hand with Victor. He would confirm any and all cockamamie rumors as true, no matter how wrong and disgusting they were. He figured that if people were dumb enough to believe it, then he shouldn’t try to spoil their fun.

But Victor and I weren’t in school together long. There was some kind of “unpleasantness” that took place which caused our principal to ask him to leave the school. Shortly after that, he moved in with his grandma Josie and Grandpa Ray in San Bernardino. I was worried at the time that this would destroy our relationship, but it didn’t, because Josie would drive out to Yucaipa on the weekends to pick me up and drop me off, never complaining or suggesting that we spend time apart or anything. And I believe that this move truly brought out the real Victor, because there was nobody around to impress or distress. He knew that his family knew him way too well, and that his antics and his trench coat would only go so far. But the beautiful thing was that he was accepted by his family, they allowed him to blossom and bloom into…whatever it was that he was trying to be that week, even if it changed by Wednesday. And being out of the confines of the high school really gave him a chance to start messing around with people’s minds in the adult world.

Oh let me count the ways.

· Victor spoke with an Australian accent for an entire month. He even went so far as to change the message on his voicemail accordingly. People at Stater Bros who worked with him actually thought he talked that way, and were confused when he stopped doing it.

· He died his hair gray. Not his gray hair, no I mean that he actually dyed his jet black hair gray.

· He had a fondness for Metallica, Nirvana, and Rush…except that he got tired of them after a while and filtered them through some computer program and sped them up so that they were Chipmunk’d. He did this to all 10+ gigs of music he had on his computer and burned them to CD’s and everything. I think my childhood ended the day that I heard Alvin bust out some of the nastiest, most offensive rap lyrics ever. And yet, Victor smiled and laughed at the atrocity that he himself had created.

· And it didn’t end with music. You know how he is with computers. He got some program that worked as a voice changer with the same Chipmunk effect. I swear to you, I would get these phone calls late at night from an extremely high pitched fast talking voice from Victor’s number quoting random movies or television shows and asking me what I was wearing.

· When he started to drive he played with the settings on his stereo so that he could have the base up really loud like those cars that you hear from five blocks away. He became one of those cars in doing this, and he would pull up next to another car that was bumping just as loud, and the other driver would nod at him approvingly, then roll down their window just a crack so he could hear what they were listening to, like Dr. Dre or 50 Cent. Then Victor would crack his window to reveal that he had been bumping some ridiculous song like “Ah, Singapore,” or something from Sesame Street. You should have seen the look on the other guy’s face when the Muppet voices sang “We Are The People In Your Neighborhood!” But that song had a surprisingly good base line, truth be told.

· You know what he got me for Valentines Day one year? I could not make this up if I tried. He bought me like 30 shark meat filets from the seafood department at Staters. He special ordered it, just for me. It’s not that I even liked shark meat or anything, I think he cooked it once and I said it was all right. Just all right. Somehow Victor thought that meant “I bet that more than anything Jessie would love a half ton of frozen shark flesh this Valentine’s Day.” It’s how he showed his love I guess.

· And there was the time that Stater’s had ordered too many Krispy Kreme donuts and he came home with something like 17 dozen donuts because they were free. “Free Jessie, free!” he told me wide eyed as if he had won the lottery. Oh but I was appreciative of the donuts, I mean they were free! Come on!

I think that during the last part of the time that I spent with Victor he and I were growing into our own life paths and looking into the ideas of what comes after that awkward time they call the teenage years. He had friends in Santa Ana that he liked to spend time with, and I just liked my little Podunk town too much to want to take that trip every week down the 91. I was still in school and I had my own little things going on in my own little world, which included less and less of Victor. And when he first started trying to make his new life out in the OC, I remember telling him that it was just another trench coat. He was only creating a new identity for himself and that he didn’t have to do that because I had seen him happy, truly happy here in town with his family and with me. But he continued on, and somewhere around the time that we broke up, I realized that it is nobody’s place to try to stop someone from being whoever they want to be. His family didn’t stop him from wearing the trench coat despite the negative connotations, and it was not right for me to try to hold him back and to keep him from becoming whatever it was that he wanted to become next. Victor never did like to conform, and that is a direct result of being raised by an open minded family who surrounded him with unconditional love and support, no matter how weird he was or how loud his music got.

Regardless of what he wore, there are two fundamental things about Victor that I will always remember him for. One of them is that Victor liked to read books. I’ve brought visual aids, if you don’t mind.

*take out books from bag*

This is Steal This Book by Abbie Hoffman. Quite possibly the birth of the underground and unconforming crowd of thinkers that Victor always wanted to be a part of. This particular copy was a Christmas gift to him that I somehow ended back up with. The Hobbit, part of the Lord of the Rings series, one of the classic series that he read before it became a movie phenomenon. This is Victor’s copy The Teaching of The Buddah that he gave me a long time ago, because even though he considered himself to be not religious, he seemed to dabble in belief systems simply for their educational purposes. Victor did not judge others as they judged them, he would simply go read up on them and see what they were all about. This is a Grimm’s Fairy Tales book that he had when he was a child that he gave me to read as well. And this is Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk. Victor introduced me to author Chuck Palahniuk’s books, starting with Fight Club, the book that his favorite movie was based off of by the same name. I’ve read all 10 of his books, including his nonfiction work, and I anticipate his next novel which comes out next spring. Why is this so important to me? Because Victor introduced me to this author’s books, which are tasteless by some people’s standards, brilliant by others. And this man’s writing is what inspired me to take a crack at penning my own novels. Today I am a published author of one non-fiction book, one novel, and my next novel is coming out in February. I also have three manuscripts waiting in line to be published in later years, including one that I wrote about a very misunderstood boy who liked to wear trench coats. All because Victor showed me that there could be unconventionalism in writing, there could be another way to tell a story, because look, this guy Chuck Palahniuk does it. Here, take my copy, but I want it back.

I gave his back. This book is mine.

In the beginning I said that it has been suggested that I shaped Victor’s life in some way and had some kind of influence on him. We are all the products of circumstances, and we reflect the people we have known. Whether by blood or by extended olive branches, all of these people have determined how we’ve grown. Victor, I believe, started me on the path to finding my writing voice, even though he didn’t walk with me down that path very far.

I will always remember that though he preferred to stare at a screen most of the day, he did like to read books. The Tao te Ching by Lao Tzu. To Kill A Mocking Bird. Jimmy The Bartender’s Guide To Life. He even tried to read War and Peace once, but I think he got really bored with it. Regardless, Victor cherished books in a wholesome and eclectic manor.

And perhaps my fondest memory of Victor reminds me that he loved very simple things…including me (ha ha.) He loved kittens, and helped me rescue some from a tree one time, carrying them back to my house from the park, dripping with sweat because he was wearing his trench coat on the hottest day in August. He liked going on the yearly house boat trip with his family because he had a secret fondness of the great out doors, even though it meant that he would have to spend a week or more away from his computer. And it was on one of those house boat trips that he invited me to come on where I learned of the depth of his fondness for simple things.

We had anchored the boat in this really pretty cove on Lake Mead, set way way back from the main river. The water was knee high through most of the cove, and you could just walk out to the middle of the pool where there was a rock with a natural spring running from it. It was surrounded by these high bluffs, and so Victor and I hiked to the top of one of them. Up top was just vast desert, and we walked for only a few moments before Victor told me to stop abruptly. I thought maybe there was a rattlesnake or something, but no. He said “Listen…that is actual silence.” No cars or busy cities in sight, nothing but the desert and the river below. But even the silence created its own sort of presence. He shared that with me because Victor understood the simple awe of true silence. Something that so many other people might never have noticed, something that I myself wouldn’t have noticed, was something that called to his attention, and I’m so glad that he literally shared the Sound of Silence with me. A moment like that is so uniquely and authentically Victor, because through his too loud Chipmunk heavy metal and the humming white noise of all of those computers and electronic gadgets, there was a man who could stop for a moment to take in and appreciate the quiet of nature.

That is…uniquely Victor.

Was it Plato who made his arguments by telling a story with an obvious flaw, allowing the listener to realize the error? Whoever it was, that method gave the listener the moment of realization, the emotional moment of “ah-ha!” And teaching experts say that unless we have that moment of chaos followed by the emotional release of realization, nothing will be remembered. In this way, Victor Jasso forces us to remember all of those mistakes that he made on purpose.

Dear Victor,

It's hard to figure out exactly what to say to you, I mean it's not like we had the best relationship, and it's not like I'm surprised that this happened knowing what I know about you. They say that if you cant say anything nice, not to say anything at all. In that case I would have to cut this short, but I think I can find something at least decent to say about you. That is to say that I can put aside the details of our sordid past for just this once.

I think for a while you loved me, truly loved me, in your loserie teenaged boy way. You were so nice to me at first when we used to hang out after school, and when you would meet me at Flag Hill Park. I remember the first time that you kissed me...and then unexpectedly fondled me...that was odd...but you were a 15 year old boy with no restraints because you had nothing more to lose than scaring me away. For some reason you didn't. I thought you were cute.

You used to wear a big black trenchcoat, no wait, you had a green one at first. For a while you had a sticker with Tigger's face pinned to the lapel that you wrote the word "hero" under. One day when I was sad, you offered me LSD on an Altoid mint, of which I politely declined.

Remember when we found those kittens in the tree at the park?

When you got kicked out of school, a lot of people doubted our relationship lasting. It was hard living so far away from you, I admit. But faithfully I went to your house every weekend, or you would come to mine. You would fight with your family and come spend the night at my house like a homeless person or something, always with your trench coat wrapped around you like you were some kind of villain.

You weren't though. Some kind of villain. You had a lot of sadness in you and I could never ever seem to break the spell. No matter how much love I tried to show you, you never seemed happy. I realized that it was not my shortcomings, but yours, and that made me truly sad for you because as much as I wanted to I could not help you fix it. Nobody deserves to live that way, and I tried to show you that by standing by your side, but nothing would ever work. I think you wanted so bad to be the outsider that you refused to even consider normal.

For the record, you never actually proposed to me. You gave me a ring inside of a "bagel holder" that you bought at Stater's. And I lied. I did know that you bought me a ring, because I found the receipt while snooping through your room. And I stole $40 from you one time. I know that pissed you off when you couldn't figure out where that money had gone to, but you were spending your money on stupid fucking shit anyway! $50 vials of hot sauce? Shrooms? Gigantic wicker baskets so that you can sleep in them like a dog? A digeriedoo? Seriously? You drove me nuts with that stuff!

Let me tell you though Victor, I loved your family. Your grandmother is so inspiring, such a lovely woman. Your aunts and your little niece...they're all such great people, and I miss the hell out of them. After I broke up with you I always wanted there to be a way to keep them without having to keep you, and perhaps it was just your family that kept me going back for so long. I was always so touched at how friendly your family was to me, especially on those houseboat trips that we took together with them. Living for a week on the lake, being lulled to sleep by the waves, surrounded by really great people. Those were some fun times.

We were together for almost three years. I remember the time that we were hiking near Lake Mead on one of the house boat trips, and you hushed me and told me to hold still for a minute. You said, "That's actual silence." Being up on that bluff, no city or vehicles anywhere in sight, perhaps only the sound of the wind and the crackle of rocks rubbing against one another with time. But that was true, actual, silence, and I'm glad that you shared that with me.

Victor, I broke up with you because you hurt me too much, and even once is never okay. You had a lot of issues, and I'm not saying that I don't, but you cost me the better of my teenaged years. I skipped out on band trips because of you, I lied to my family. You took from me something very precious that I will never, ever have back for the rest of my life. And still, I can somehow find good words for you Victor.

The last time we spoke, you went on about your new crazy life out in the OC, about your cat named Monday or Tuesday or whatever. About how after swallowing a fistful of pills you had to look yourself in the mirror and decide if you wanted to live, and something told you to induce vomiting. I don't know what made you sad like that, I never could understand it, and forgive me for at some point pushing it away and deciding that it was no longer my destiny in life to help you, even though I still had hope for you.

You died on Sunday, and though I'm not sure of the details I know that it struck a core in me. My husband David, he's the one who brought me your obituary clipped from the paper. You were 25. You died on Pearl Harbor day, and somehow that seems just so you.

Perhaps if I cant fully express myself with the right words to you I shouldn't be putting them out on the internet where your brothers or your sister or your family might read them, but then you've always known me to do that. You're the one who taught me HTML and bought me my first Dot Com back in 2000. You weren't so encouraging with my writing, but you liked that I was being geekie, and that was nice I guess. I liked when you were being geekie too, so long as what you were doing was legal.

Victor, I'm sorry for your death because I know how much your family loves you. I know this because your step mom emailed me an hour ago begging me to call her, even though I havent spoken to anyone in your family since somewhere around 2003. Perhaps if nothing else, I send my condolences to them and wish only things of hope and wellness to them because they lost you, and you were, if nothing else, a very colorful son.

I don't really know how to end this, but um...I hope that your journey was worth the thousand steps, or however that goes. I'm also sorry that I'm not good at condolences.

For what it's worth, it was worth all the while.

Peace.

Jessie

Good Thing They Tried The Knob

Now let me tell you about Sally and the police, because there's a story about Sally and the police and I think you'll like it. Furthermore, I'm telling you this because it was suggested that Sally hates Steppy because he's a cop and maybe where she comes from cops cant be trusted.

She showed me these pictures, not online, but actual printed pictures, of her in her underwear and an oversized cop uniform shirt and hat. She's straddling a chair and thumbing the brim of the hat while giving a seductive look to the camera.

"That's cute," I say. "Still have the uniform?"

"No, I have to gave it back," she says.

Yeah.

"Gave it back to who?"

"The cop it was on."

You'll love this. Back in Romania she was out at a bar with a friend and they flirted with a cop who ended up following them back to her friend's apartment. Just as you can imagine, it went something like "Can I wear your hat Mr. Policeman?" and from there it went to shirt, tie, etc.

How do I know there was a real cop and she didn't just have a pretend uniform? Because the next picture was of a guy with no shirt on wearing a belt with a lot of things on it, and I don't mean screwdrivers and hammers. This ain't no Bob the Builder here. He was a cop, and even though the picture was dark and grainy, he was copalicious.

Copalicious.

Only her friend? Ended up getting murdered and there was a big ol' investigation and everything. Mr. Hot Romanian Cop Dude tells Sally to burn those pictures, because the girl's house was going to be searched and everything and if those pictures were found, his job would be terminat, and I don't think I need to translate that for you.

So, it's been asked a few times over recent months, "Steppy: why no pictures?" Well, frankly, "Steppy: why not a real name?" should kind of give you a clue. This website is very very Googleable, I've mentioned names before and people have googled them and found their way to this site. I've mentioned a vague family member and his occupation as a law enforcement somebody and I got reamed over it. Basically? I don't mess with cops. I keep a lot of names off of here (FYI Mustang Sally has a pretty Romanian name) for privacy. And I am especially careful with pictures.

And I'm very sorry to tell you this, but when David is a cop, I'll have to mention him a lot less, or at least his job anyway. Not that you cant call me to get the details, my phone number is available and anyone can have it, I don't care. But there's no way that I would risk someone's job just to give you a name with a face.

But if it helps you, just picture Officer Steppy as Justin Timberlake. Only without the stubble. And more baby faced. Sorry you cant have a real picture, but Justin Timberlake should suffice, no?

It's just that I still want to mention him here and I don't want any trouble for anyone. This is serious business and all, considering his line of work, and the one time that I quoted another officer who I'm related to on here, even under a fake name, like I said I got reamed. I don't even want to risk it anymore, know what I mean?

This is a small town and there are only so many cops around here with his unique first name. And yes, there have been people who have been fired over blogs before. Google it.

So now let me tell you about my awful, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I threw up as soon as I got up in the morning. Last thing I ate was Jack in the Box at like 11:00 at night the day before because it was one of those "I don't feel like cooking/I don't have time to make a pizza" nights. Yeah so I wake up burping up the taste of burger, which is no good, and then I puke. I hate puking, god.

David's like "What if you're pregnant?"

I'm not pregnant I just have the flu or something, Jesus.

I ended up putting Ty on the bus because I knew I was too dizzy to drive. It was cold and windy out, so of course I felt better being out there because I had a whole new set of problems to worry about and I was distracted from my upset stomach and general queasiness. But once I came back in, yeah, my problems came back. And I threw up again. I managed to station myself on the couch, lazily looking at shit on the computer, and oh yeah speaking of shit, guess who has orange juice shooting out of her butt?

And don't try to tell me that I shouldn't mention things like that, this is a journal. Poop goes in journals. And that's like the umteenhundreth time I've mentioned poop here so shutie.

Anyway, I started to fall asleep, only I still had Wade here. He was playing quietly with some cars and blocks right by my head, so I thought if I took just a wee little nap things would be okay. So I half slept and no fires started, but then I got thirsty. I went into the kitchen, and oh my god, Wade went caveman on me. I swear to god, he drew ALL OVER the damn kitchen. He outlined the squares on the linoleum, and traced hand turkeys all over the counter and fridge. He used a Crayola washable one, but still, what in the fuck was he thinking? I fall asleep and he just goes nuts! Okay, whatever, I'll clean it up when I get a chance to. I went to get a bottle of water out of the fridge and there were none left. No soda, no tea made, no juice, I was in trouble. And before you ask, our tap water is pretty weird tasting, so I dont like to drink that unless I absolutely have to.

I texted the neighbor. I told her I needed help. So she knocked, and it wasn't like I was going to get up or anything, so just as I was about to say like "come in" or whatever, but she opened the door and came in on her own. Good thing she tried the knob. I wouldn't have opened the door for her. I asked her to go to the store for me for water and juice, and she's like "You're sick? Let me to take care of you!" I'm like "No Sally, just go get me some water or something," so she brings me over like 12 bottles of water from her fridge.

"Could you be pregnant?"

"No Sally, I'm not pregnant."

"You want to eat? You feel like eat?"

"No, I just need something to drink."

"How about some soup?"

"No, just drinks, okay?"

"You could drink the soup, yes?"

"No soup Sally!"

"Okay I go buy you some orange juice. You want vicodin?"

"What? No!"

"Okay I be back, okay? You sleep now."

I swear, every time I have some kind of ailment the neighbor is offering me vicodin or methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or for you kids out there, ecstasy. She's nuts. But she's also helpful, because she brought back some Simply Orange and some tangerines, and David (it was his lunch break) and I slept almost the entire time he was here. But he made Wade some lunch, which is a good thing because I forgot to even think about food for him since I wasn't eating any and the thought just slipped my feeble mind. David ended up taking the car back to work and Sally picked Ty up from school.

Now I remember what friends are for.

Do you know the last time that I was actually taken care of when I was sick? Well, I don't. It doesn't happen often. What's that thing people say? "Mom doesn't get a sick day." Yeah, that's the truth.

Ty did his homework and I threw up some more, a total of three times for the day, and I also took two baths...well three if you count when I was in the first one so long that the water went luke warm so I drained the tub and filled it again. I like my baths to burn my skin red. Wade ended up taking a nap and Ty is relatively self sufficient, so everything was fine and I was able to continue to laze about the couch for the rest of the afternoon.

Then David came home, made some vegetables or something for the kids, and they ate and went to bed. They normally go to bed at about six or seven anyway, so it wasn't any different. David started complaining about being sick, but not as sick as me he said. He went to work anyway, and he didn't lock the door behind him. And you know where this is going.

Steppy doesn't even call anymore before showing up, he just shows up because he knows I'm home. He doesn't usually come over until later but of course for some reason his wife was somewheres without him so he showed up here. I think I heard him knock, and I just looked at the door and said "Bah." Good thing he tried the knob, huh?

He's all like "Oh you're sick?" because I'm lying on the couch covered in blankets and poking one finger out to use the touch pad on my computer that is in front of me on the podium.

"Are you pregnant?"

"God damnit! Why does everyone ask me that?"

He asked me if I wanted anything, soup mainly. No drugs though, like Sally. He's like "Come on, let's get you to bed."

wut?

No, it wasn't anything bad, his intentions were pure. He just walked me to my room and I reluctantly allowed him to tuck me in. I haven't been tucked in since...ever. Not even as a kid. And my bed is like the best bed ever to be sick in because I have this heavy down comforter and micro-fleece sheets, my god, it's like sleeping inside of a teddy bear. I'm actually really glad that he made me go to my bed because being curled up on the love seat was probably not very good for me.

Still, I know that it made him a giddy motherfucker.

He says "Okay, are you ready for your sponge bath?"

"Huh?"

"Kidding. You want crackers or your computer or anything?"

I said no. I needed to get some sleep. He kissed me on the forehead and I was like "duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun't."

Then I assume he left or something. But it doesn't end there. I get woken up a few hours later by the neighbor. Is my front door still not locked? Good thing she tried the knob.

"You will eat some mashed potatoes, they will be good for you. I made big pot, you eat some!" she says, and she's standing there with a pot in one hand and threatening me with a spoon full of white mush with the other.

"I don't want any!"

"You have not eaten today, you need to eat some or you will not get better! This has garlic in it!" and she tries to give me a bite.

"Sally! That has milk in it! I could die, remember?"

"Oh fuck! SHIT!" and she leaves.

Now I know that I did not hallucinate this because I woke up this morning with mashed potato on my face and pillow.

Then, some time around 9:00, I hear the door open once again. Who in the fuck could that be? Only I heard keys hitting the counter, so I knew it was David. He came in really sad like saying that he was sick too. I don't blame him. I said that this was the best bed to be sick in ever, and he crawled in behind me.

I was half dead most of the night, feverie, getting up every so often to shit out more yellow stuff, and whimpering about tummy grumbles. But then I woke up this morning and poked my head out of the covers, feeling 75% better. This is why I don't take medicines or anything when I'm sick, because I like the feeling I get when it's gone and I'm all better. It's so much more enjoyable than feeling artificially better, isn't it? When you can remember how bad you felt before and how much better you feel now, it's beautiful.

Now I have caveman drawings to scrub and a shit load of cleaning to do, even though my poop is still not right at all. Maybe I'll have some food at some point.

I'll bet Sally saved me some potatoes. Too bad they have milk in them, though I'm sure she'll try to convince me that they don't.

2/11/09

Step and I reworked this, and it is ready for the official release. (Now 100% David approved!)



Music is The Art of Possession by Falling You (Magnatune.com)

PS. I highly recommend the downloading of that album.

Comment it, rate it, even if you hate it.

Intruder Alert

We got the good word from the Good Sergeant today. David's background investigation is 99% complete, and they hook him to some machines to see if he's a liar on Thursday. From there, it's to the doctor and the shrink, and then, yeah, academy. The Good Sergeant asked me if I'm aware that academy is six months long and asked if I have any family.

So it looks like we will know very soon if David is leaving for sure. We haven't gotten "the word" yet but it's leaning that way.

And it appears that I am already paranoid about living alone.

I've expected that once he leaves I will be making a lot of calls to the police to investigate the noise, because I will be living alone and totally living in fear (so don't try anything motherfucker or I'll cut your shit up!) Well, Saturday night after Steppy left I took a shower. David wasn't home yet. And for some reason, I am always terrified that someone is going to break in while I'm in the shower. I'm going to hear a noise, pull back the curtain, and see a guy standing there with a knife or something. I'm probably paranoid/delusional, but everyone has a weird quirk or four.

Then again, remember the mystery donuts?

Only this time, when I got out of the shower, I heard unfamiliar noises and sensed that someone was in the house with me FOR REAL. I thought maybe it was David, because I heard it in the bedroom. I was creeped the fuck out, so I got dressed really quick and went out to check the front door to see if it was locked. It was, but just like last time, I forgot to shut the slider.

Great. Just great. Well at least they didn't see me nekkid.

At this point I hear my closet door bumping and sliding a bit. I know it for sure. Some mother fucker is in my bedroom! Call 911, right? Well...I froze. And I got onto this weird brainwave of thinking.

1. I should call Steppy back...but what if I call him and it turns out that it's like that movie where "the call is coming from inside the house!" and I hear his phone ringing because it's him hiding in the closet. For some reason this possibility scared me from calling him. Right, like I said, I wig under pressure apparently.
2. I should call the police...but then...what if there's nobody here? Then I'll look stupid. And oh my jeez, I'd hate to be on the boy who cried wolf list so soon, since I'm sure I'll be calling wolf a lot when David leaves.
3. I should call David...but he'll probably just say that he's in butt-fucking-Cabazon or some shit, and even if he does ditch a few deliveries to come check for the boogie man, if it turns out I'm wrong I know I'll feel bad when he gets stiffed on tips when he gives people cold pizza.

I had to weigh my options, and I had to do it fast. Paranoia was setting in hard core and I could still hear the noises, and I still had that sense of someone being in there.

I decided to be my own hero.

Only I didn't think to arm myself at all, even though I have knives and such, no. My mind went elsewhere. I grabbed my cell phone and my camera, yes my camera, because I thought "if I'm going to get raped, I should probably take some pictures of it." Not for internet purposes, but to show the police, because I would want this guy caught ASAP and me just saying "he was Mexican" or "he was white" or "he look-a like a man" would not narrow it down. So yes, I brought my camera with me to go investigate the noise.

I tiptoed down the hall, my camera on and my phone open. My bedroom light was on and I did not turn it on, in fact, I hadn't been in there all day. The first thing I saw was a body shaped lump on my bed, but it was clearly not a person, or a live person anyway, because I saw no rib expansion with breathing. It was most likely just a body shaped lump. That was my conclusion. So I looked in the dreaded closet, and I saw nothing. And then I thought about what could be under the bed.

I imagined that scene from Kill Bill where she's waiting low on the floor with a knife, and she cuts the guys ankles when he walks by her. But I had to know if there was someone under the bed, because there was no way that I could go back to knitting and watching YouTube if I didn't check to make sure nobody would surprise me out from under there. So I turned like I was leaving down the hall, then I ran back and ninja jumped onto my bed and bounced on it a few times. I don't know how effective it was to do that, but damnit, I did it.

And nothing, nothing happened. There was nobody in my room, it was a good thing that I didn't call the cops. I'd of looked like an idiot. The noises? Just the wind and my hot water heater closet door. The sense of someone being in the house with me? My crazy, paranoid imagination. The lamp? Had probably been on all day because one of the kids did it.

I'm such a goober.

But now I know what I want for Christmas. A Brinks Home Security System. Post haste! This has got to stop, I cant keep freaking out and almost calling the cops because of the wind.

Price Gouging And Fear Mongering And The Thought That Counts

There are people out there who run websites that are specifically to scare people. Like that Alex Jones guy, the ones who will put "news" onto the interwebs to create mass hysteria. Actually, I've heard even some of the crazies out there admit to believing that Alex Jones is a double agent, but that is neither here nor there.

I believe that with the holiday shopping season comes people on the internet who take advantage of online shoppers through price gouging. "You wont find this in stores" or "sold out in stores" is often found listed with certain products. No need to mention Ebay here, but what prompted me to think about this was earlier today when my sister was looking on Amazon for Easy Bake Oven accessories, and came across a $64 4 oz. bag of Cinnabon mix for the Easy Bake. That's ONE bag of mix.

Sad thing is that I think some poor bastard bought it because it's gone now. But as you can see, all Easy Bake mix is priced way too high on Amazon, or through the private sellers anyway. Not that I want to talk bad about the Amazon because they are now officially selling my book, and so is Barnes And Noble, (I am as shocked as you are, early Christmas present to me) but I just have to say that seriously speaking $14 is way too much to pay for a bag of cookie mix, tiny cookie mix at that. It makes little tiny baby cookies. I had an Easy Bake when I was a senior in high school because our kitchen was under construction and we didn't have an oven for a few weeks, but I still wanted to bake things, so I would make little tiny baby cookies in the dead of the night with my light bulb oven and I would frost them and sprinkle them and laugh maniacally as I ate them. Then my sister would knock on my door and tell me to go to bed, but that is neither here nor there.

I'm having a hard time with gifts this year. I have a few people on my gift giving list that I really don't see that often but who always give me something anyway, and now that I'm better and faster at knitting I don't see a problem with giving them hand made scarves. I know that's cheesy to some and they might not be appreciated, but that's why I'm not giving blankets or something overly complicated. I could be wrong, my scarves could be cherished for all time and worn in the summer, but it's like...a scarf, or fancy soaps?

I hate those pre packaged boxes with the hot cocoa mix and the mugs or the bath and body stuff or whatever else they try to get you to buy. I mean the idea is clever, but much like the big tins of popcorn, it's a present that doesn't require much thought.

Then again, what presents do require thought?

I just hate giving out so many scarves because I know that around here people don't really wear them on a count of it's SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA! Steppy is begging me for a cable knit sweater but he's going to have to wait in line because I still have to make David's cable knit vest that he begged me for first.

The scarf in the top picture is just a simple ribbed scarf that I knit up in a matter of hours for Ty's teacher. I used one whole skein of Lionbrand Homespun. I've got a few more skeins of yarn that I bought and that I have lying around to knit up into things. Some hats for a set of twins who were born on my birthday that belong to a man that I am writing a book about, or at least using for a plot line anyway. A 14 foot long red scarf for The Sally because she liked my 14 foot long green one. Maybe some mittens in there somewhere, I don't know.

I want to get some books for my sister. For some reason she's obsessed with reading the young reader novels about kids with magical powers. If there's a 12 year old boy who knows a dragon and can cast a spell to help his friend get away from something dark and mysterious, that's her kind of book. I contemplated buying her the Twilight series, but I've mentioned it to her twice and she's rather disgusted by "vampire stories." Plus she says she likes to read the young adult stuff because there's no mushy romance scenes.

And my in laws, I mean I have a good idea of what to do for David's mom, but his dad...damnit I hate being related to people who buy themselves whatever they want and who wont use things that the general public would find useful. He's a human calculator, he digs maps as in if you even mention a street name he's already looking it up in the Thomas guide, and he's obsessed with weather. So of course he already has every edition of every map book out there far as I know, and they're all updated far as I know, he's got all of these barometers and weather machines and shit, he knows exactly how much money it costs in gas to drive down to Sams Club, it's just hard. I suggested that sodoku shit to David and he said that his dad would never do it because he doesn't have time for silly games. I suggested a book on card counting because he's good at math and he likes to gamble, and David said no, because his dad doesn't have time for books or to learn new tricks. So this one is going to remain a mystery, as David says that the man has never worn a beanie, so a wool beanie would be out of the question.

I did knit the dog's stocking though. You can be proud of me for that. It came out a little wonky but at least it somewhat resembles a stocking.

Also, David's dad really blew my gift for me, because the other day he mentions to me "Dave was asking about the aerial tramway out in Palm Springs, what was that about?"

"I don't know. Probably something I'm not supposed to know about."

"He didn't say nothing like that, he was just asking about getting the tickets on line but they stop selling them the day before your birthday."

"Yeah why do you think he mentioned that they stopped selling them BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY?"

*facepalm*

He confessed to David that he "thinks he blew it." They both *facepalm* and now I'm getting pants instead. Ya cant tell people anything these days.

But that is neither here nor there.

I still cant figure out what to give most of the people I am giving to.

The Miserable Pretty Boy And Me

This is a moment in time.

He has come back once again because he says he likes knitting. Well, he likes trying, anyway. I had this dog who used to eat apples, and I don't think that he actually liked to eat them, it was just that he was willing to choke it down because it was people food, sort of like how you'll drink the burnt coffee full of grounds anyway because it's free. Basically, what I mean is that I have a hard time believing that Steppy actually enjoys knitting, I think he's doing it because I don't have a TV.

At least it's productive.

He's been very quiet since...you know, the incident. He responds to my kindness with a smile and to Sally's harsh treatment with wide eyes. But he doesn't say much. When it's just him and me alone and I have nothing to say, he suggests that I put on music. He barely ever looks up from his needles and the mess of yarn attached to them. Maybe through knitting he finds the time to think through his problems and sort out his life, just like everybody else does.

My apartment is a cozy sanctuary for the miserable pretty boy.

After a life of being quite the reject and being a loserie and friendless housewife as an adult, I have to admit that I just like the vibration of someone else being in the room with me. Even if it is to knit on a Saturday night. That's what I like about it.

What I like is not only that Steppy can sit here quiet as a mouse attempting to knit something while never uttering more than a few words as he just enjoys being here with me, but that even Sally's knock on the door has become less violent and demanding when she just wants to know if I have anything sweet to eat.

I have people again.

He's been here since 8:00 and it's 10:00 now. It's been 45 minutes since he's said anything. I'm getting ready to shoot a spit wad at him.

A Romantic Language

Mustang Sally came over to knit with me last night and she ended up making a call home over Yahoo Messenger. Home as in Romania. Ever hear a hot chick speak Romanian?

She's been trying to come over to write lately, although last time she was here to write I accidentally slipped out that free porn is easy to find on the internet these days thanks to flash video sites like RedTube and XTube, and I really shouldn't have told her that because then all she wanted to do was watch porn on my couch. Although Sally's commentary on porn? Very funny.

"Oh where's that gonna go? Oh now look, she's gonna get it!"

She kept turning the screen and showing me things and saying "I should not be watching this, is so bad."

So last night when she wanted to come over to write, I said she could, but I need to knit a bunch of gifts, and she thought this was a great idea so she went and bought a bunch of yarn and came over to knit with me. And oh my god, when it comes to knitting? Her and I speak two different languages. She didn't know how to read a pattern. She didn't know what a knit stitch was or what a purl stitch was. In her language, it's not "knit and purl," it's "tricota şi cusut." I think anyway. She also counts in Romanian and that's just fucking weird, all right?

And she thought I was knitting wrong! She looked at how I hold my needles, and was shocked and appalled. "That not knitting," she said. Well, see, there are two styles of knitting that have to do with how you hold the needles and where to hold the yarn. I know this. I know that what I do is called English style knitting, and what she does is called Continental. She had no idea that patterns that were written out existed. She said she was just taught from birth how to knit and they all just design their own stuff over there, and they use math to figure out how to do things that are more complicated.

For example, I am making a stocking for David's fur-brother Presley (his parent's puppy.) I used a chart to figure out how to knit the letters in, and she was asking why I had to use a chart. She said she can just do it automatically without a chart.

She said over there, you learn to knit for survival. Winters are way below zero and if you don't know how to knit wool socks then you are a useless and cold mother fucker. She also thought that David knowing how to knit was gay, because over there, a man who knits is gay. I assured her that it's not gay, it's just very trendy.

Steppy called, wanted to come over, and I told him that he cant hide out here forever. I told him that Sally and I were knitting and he didn't care, he just wanted to hang with us. He got here, and I swear to god, kissed Sally's ass.

He's all "Hello Sally, that's a lovely blouse you're wearing."

Without missing a beat she goes "Oh please, my pimp hand start to tingly."

I spit Dr Pepper all over myself. I haven't laughed that hard in like nine years.

"What? That's how you say it is, right?"

"Sally, where did you learn language like that?" I ask her, because I remember how she said that she would have to "slap a bitch" yesterday.

"I was in chat room."

Did I ever tell you that she learned English by watching movies with the subtitles on and by talking to people on AdultFriendFinder.com? Do you love it?

Steppy just sat there mostly quiet, and she would glare at him every once in a while. I thought that perhaps she would strike so I called him over to my couch and handed him a pair of needles. "Come on Step, let's make you gay."

He ended up making a really blobby shaped thing full of holes. But that's what we all made the first time. Except Sally, she probably made a wedding gown or some shit when she was three, I wouldn't doubt it. "In winter time, is what we do." And apparantly a lot of bitch slapping. Those crazy Romanians.

Gray Skies Are Gonna Clear Up

David and Steppy had some kind of...talk. I'm not exactly sure what was said, as David just keeps saying that it was "guy stuff" and Steppy, well, Steppy is a troubled, troubled man. Poor booger.

I'm like, "What was said?" and David says "Just like, hey, you know, that kind of thing." I don't get that. He says "I just was like, so yeah, and he's like yeah, and I said cool, so it's all going to be okay now."

"Yeah but what does that mean?"

"It means like, unspoken...guy...man thing. He made it clear that he has no ill intentions and that, yeah, you know, it's cool."

"I still don't fucking get it."

"It's called being the alpha male, okay? He's the timid little beta wolf who cant get the female, and he's not going to try because he has too much to lose. I didn't have to say much to him, he's like a lamb right now. You should call him, I think he needs a friend."

I did call him. Whatever grunting went on between the two of them made him kind of distant sounding on the phone. I asked him if he's going to get a divorce, and he said there was no point to. It's either be miserable but still have his kids or cause a big gigantic uproar and get to see his kids even less than he already does. Someday, he tells me, someday. But he says he can tolerate his marriage for the sake of his kids, which is bittersweet if you ask me.

I asked him if he thinks it's wrong to stay married considering the circumstances, he said not really. He's calling it an emotional affair, and I'm like "well it's a very one sided emotional affair then. I'd say it's more like a serious infatuation."

He asked me if I'm mad. No, I'm not mad. Actually some of my commenters asked me how I felt about the situation. How do you think I feel? Flattered but spoken for, a little sad for him, and perhaps just a tinge upset that this couldn't have just been and stayed a normal friendship. I think that one commenter, Alissa, mentioned that I have a thing for mens in uniform but Step still isn't seen as a threat, but you have to realize, it's not like he comes over here IN uniform. I've only seen him in uniform a couple of times in passing. If he did show up here, I would fully expect it to be like that movie The Full Monty, just because of what it is. My two favorite occupations are cops and strippers, and if I can just get someone to agree to combine the two, I would giggle for hours. In all reality, I get shy around men in uniform and I stare at the ground like a child. It's not like I hump their legs or anything.

As I've mentioned before, he and I lack a certain chemistry. Now chemistry is not something that can develop over time, it just is what it is. From the very first time that someone poured vinegar on baking soda, it bubbled up, and it was awesome, and it still does that today. You pour water on baking soda, and it turns into like a goo paste. That wont change 100 years from now. Eight years ago when I made out with this guy in my driveway, there was nothing. Goo paste. Now I've kissed a lot of people, I wouldn't call myself a lip whore, but I've kissed people for many reasons. Love, attraction, lulz, the reaction of the passers by, what have you. When I kiss David I feel something and I always have, and it's good. When I kissed Steppy all those years ago, I felt like I was acting, sort of like when I kissed a few band girls to disappoint the band boys who were upset that we had all "gone lesbo." (Total lie, we were just mad at them.)

Steppy and I have no chemistry. I'm coming around and letting him hug me, because back in the day we did hug and hold hands. We were dance partners. We did that sort of thing. Whatever, it's fine, I need more human interaction anyway. To tell you the god's honest truth, Steppy's my brother. I have a very little, weird, and broken family and I'm always out there adopting surrogate mothers (hat tips to Connie, Liz P,) sisters (Liz in Seattle, Miss) aunts (Stacey,) etc. Steppy for me replaces the fact that my big brother (of which I have several but I am specifically talking about the one who is closest in age to me) was never a big brother to me. He was an asshole, and that's not how it's supposed to be. Big brothers are supposed to be protective and loving. Yeah, he always says "I've been consistent in my actions, I've always been the same way." Consistency is only a virtue if you're not a screwup! So Steppy, not a lover, not a boyfriend, but the brother I never had but always wanted. That's the kind of love that doesn't come with a chemistry kit, it just is what it is and you're just plain stuck with it. It's family.

He asked me if I'm going to tell his wife. No, that's not on me. I know how women react to things, and I am not going to get slapped. I told him not to stress out, because then he'd end up having a stroke, and that just ruins your smile. And in his defense, of course this is just one side of it but still, he has expressed to her the things that he wanted to work out, like I guess their bedroom issues and the religion thing. She likes to go on saying there's not a problem, when there is. He's nice to her, it's not like he doesn't pay the tithing's or whatever it's called that the Mormons give to their church, and when he's home he cooks and takes care of the kids like David does. What he wanted though was to stop posing happy for the pictures and actually try to fix the problems he was having, even if she didn't see a problem. He wanted to go to counseling, but she would only go see some church councilor, and he didn't want that. He says the reason why he wants to get home late is because if he tries to get in bed while she's still awake, yup, she sends him to the proverbial dog house. "But she's my wife and I want to sleep in the same bed as my wife." He doesn't hate her. He says he probably still loves her enough to take the time to work things out, but he just doesn't see that happening.

I said, "hey, Sally and I are over here eating cookies and Romanian food and you should come too."

So he came over, and he seemed kind of tense. Sally gave him pork and I offered chocolate cookies with peanut butter chips. I told him that Sally is looking for a room mate, and he should move in with her so we can have pork and cookie parties every day.

"You want a male room mate?" he asked her, and it almost sounded like a serious inquiry.

"I like mens better than the women because women just use your lotion."

I'm like, "Oh well, then Steppy cant move in. He uses that shit all the time."

"I'd let you use mine," he offers.

"Oh no. That is gross. I'd have to slap a bitch...does I said that right?"

He's cute. Too bad the Sally leaves scratch marks and abrasions, or else that would be a groovy kind of love. She does shit that I don't think anyone this side of the Mexican border does, and that's probably too harsh for ex-Mormon boy. That, and I'm going to try to play up the possibility of a reconciliation, not to the point of getting his hopes up just to have them shattered, but enough to where he might find the right words to say to her that will make her listen. I cant get involved, of course. She wont admit that there is anything wrong to anyone, and hardly entertains the thought with him, except by her actions.

I told him that it's all right if he's in love with me, but we have to be able to hang out as friends without it getting weird. He cant get weirded out or stare at me or anything, he just has to work around his feelings, otherwise no more cookies and Romanian food. He swore that he'd try not to break into song like a Disney movie. "Right from the moment when I met her, saw her..."

I'm like "No man! Bye Bye Birdie! Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face! Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face!" At this point he was smiling through tears. "Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, it's not your style. You'll look so good that you'll be glad that, ya decide to smile--"

"Wait, how do you know all the words to that song?"

"Dude yo, I know the entire fucking play, a'ight? I was in pit band, remember?" Then I proceeded to act out the entire "one last kiss on the Ed Sullivan show" scene by myself, including the infamous "Brace yourself chick," "BRACE YOURSELF CONRAD BIRDIE!" and then I punched myself in the face kinda accidentally hard Ed Norton style. I fell to the ground and everything. I'm so glad the lady down stairs moved out.

"You know," I say, "there's still time for you to go find a non crazy girl to fall in love with."

"Not even remotely interested."

Door's Open, Door's Closed.

The picture of the swing in my banner, the one with all the trash and tumble weeds...they found a body there by that abandoned playground this morning. Maybe a block from my house. It's along a trail that David runs in the morning a few days a week that cuts through a field, but that he didnt run this morning. Someone did though, because at the exact time that he was out running only a block away, another jogger found it. That's just...that's just wow. I'll keep you updated on that.

Steppy came over for the first time in a very long while to hang out. No painting to be done, it was just him dropping by. He said he didnt want to go home, and I said he didnt have to go home but he couldnt stay here. He insisted that it was just for a while, until he was sure she was asleep.

He had some kind of Crackberry device that I've never seen him with before and he asked if he could use my wifi and I said that it was Sally's network. I gave him the password, and he sat on the other couch, and I just went back to whatever I was doing on the computer. I asked him where he got the phone, and he said it was an early Christmas present from his wife. I said that was nice of her, but he said he only got it because she washed his old one with his pants. Oh.

Then he gets up and puts on his jacket.

"Leaving?"

"No, I just want to come sit by you."

And he needed his jacket to do that?

He was really quiet and not saying much of anything, just doing whatever on his little crackberry thing. Then I asked him why he likes hanging out at my house so much.

"Because I love you."

...

"Yuh what?"

He just sighed and said "yeah," then asked if I was hungry, because he was, and he wanted to get some Jack in the Box or something. I tried to prod more, and he shut that door just as quick as he opened it. He said he almost forgot, but he bought me the rights to a few songs from Magnatune so I can use them in my book trailers (not a big deal, the license to use each song is less than $10.) He said he'd be back.

What the...

Then he comes back and he's like "Let's buy the ISBN and order bookmarks. Let's get it all set up so you can get it all done and give a copy to David before he leaves for academy. And I'm thinking we can rent a cabin and have a book signing party since it goes with the theme of the book. We could do a strip club but I think a cabin is probably more reasonable."

I said that it's not time to do those things yet and I asked him why he told me he loves me. He said, "Because I do." I stared at him blankly. He's like "What? I'm not going to lie about it. I'm not expecting anything from you, I know you're happily married, I've just developed feelings for you. Here, I got yours with no cheese."

And that was that.

Eventually he left and when David got home I told him. David says the guy's got balls. Real balls. To be able to admit that, knowing he cant do anything about it, takes real balls. Furthermore, he says he feels sorry for Steppy because he's probably in a lot of pain. He says "I imagine if I couldnt have you I'd be pretty messed up from it." And he said that people accidently fall in love with the wrong person all the time without meaning to, and I should just give it time and be kind and understanding toward him. And if he gets a divorce, try to hook him up with Sally.

God, how does David stay so laid back all the time? Mistrust is an axe at the tree of love, I suppose, that's always been my theory anyway. It's nice to be able to share this with David without being threatened or getting the third degree. But then, now it's out. Steppy loves me, for real. I went to all of these advice websites after googling something to the effect of "my best friend is in love with me," and I found no happy medium amongst the masses. Half of the crowd was made up of insanely jealous spouses who demanded that the friendship end, and the other half, well...there was this one guy, and he said his wife's best friend is male. He said at first it would upset him when they would kiss goodbye, but he got used to it. Then the husband started to have to travel for work for weeks at a time, and she would go out on "dates" with the friend and act accordingly on them as if she was dating this man. And the husband was cool with this because hey, at least she has a companion to keep her company when he's gone, right?

Okay, that's sweet and all, the companion thing. But then he said that he allows for "petting" to occour, and that...well I just dont agree to that myself. The guy said that it's a win win because she's having fun and he's not worried that she's going to leave him. Maybe it depends on your deffinition of petting. David said that it involves boob honking and cupping the balls with pants on. I always thought that petting in any form meant the HJs and the FB-ing. The guy didnt specify, but whatever his wife was doing with this man, he was obviously titilated by it.

Perhaps because I saw the two extremes and scoffed at both, I'm neutral and that's a good thing.

David says that things will still work out, he says that Step's the kind of guy who wouldnt try to do anything about it, in fact he said "the guy is exactly like me. I know his motives, I know the extent of what his actions will be." He also said he's going to talk to him.

Um, hello, shut up, goodbye, that's what I've been wanting him to do this WHOLE time. Spectacular.

Closet Full Of Spiders

Four things happen in December for us. My birthday is on the 20th. Christmas, of course, is always on the 25th. David's birthday is three days later on the 28th. And like idiots, we got married on December 31st. We've yet to go out on a date or do anything special at all on our anniversary, and it will be five years this year. Then again, we dont have birthdays either so it all kind of goes together.

Our tree has been up since Thanksgiving night, and presents appeared under it some time on Friday night. Nothing for me, just various things for David and the boys. Santa is bringing Nerf this year, and maybe that makes Santa dumb because those little dart thingies will be all over the damn house, but it's hard to shop for my boys. They take things apart or break them, or they take them apart or break them and use the parts to make a new toy, which is inventive but also very destructive. It makes Santa think twice about spending a lot of money on toys, so that's why Santa is bringing Nerf. A lot of Nerf, but Nerf all the same.

Santa hasn't wrapped the Nerf stuff yet because Santa doesn't have gold paper and billowing clusters of shiny gold ribbons, and even if he did, hidden presents are a lot easier to spot and more tempting to peek into than hidden Target bags. We tell the kids not to go near our closet because it's full of spiders, but I think that might just be tempting Ty.

How big are the spiders? Are they black webbos? Why don't you just call someone and have them come kill the spiders? How did the spiders get here?

"Ty, the spiders came inside because they're cold and they need a place to stay. They wont bother us if we don't bother them, and they'll be back outside after Christmas. Just...just don't go anywhere near that closet, okay? That's all you need to know."

I'm having a hard time coming up with a wish list this year, there's nothing that I really want, except for a new camera, but that's a lot of money. That's more like a tax return thing or a CHP thing. I told David that I want thoughtful gifts from him, the kind that only he can buy me, which I think he assumes is underwear. That's fine, I need underwear. I know he's been googling because he keeps erasing the history. I think I want a Poppet for my birthday, as I've decided that they're a special reason thing, like when I do something monumental like win NaNoWriMo or have a birthday or get knocked up or finish writing a book or something. Other than that? Books? Candles? I don't know. I have to start my Amazon list for the people who request gift ideas from me and I'm not sure what to fill it with. Probably just...books and candles or something.

Perhaps a new point and shoot camera to replace the Lumix would be nice. Or several hours of promised "sit at Starbucks and write" time. Maybe in the form of a gift card. I would have asked for a rich family member to buy me a bed but we got one off of Freecycle and we already had all the fixin's. Yarn is always useful.

It's too hard to think of anything. What are you asking for this year? Gimme some ideas.

"Rate It Even if You Hate It"

The Good Sergeant never came out today like he was supposed to, apparently because he accidentally scheduled David's appointment on a day that he has a big meeting. So he called and rescheduled for next Monday instead. Le sigh.

But all was not lost. The Good Sergeant said that a lot of other kids have "dropped out," which...draw your own conclusion from that I guess...and that David's whole investigation should be done by the end of the month. He said something about everything is done with his check it's just that he needs David's documents, his transcripts, his birth certificate, marriage license, all that kind of stuff. Plus he's already been fingerprinted, so that makes it even faster.

In other words, everything is done and he's still willing to come out to collect documents, so just as we expected nothing came up on him and everything is fine. He's still in the process. Furthermore, because so many kids have left, David will be on the train to Sacramento in February. The only things left are seeing a doctor and seeing a shrink, so we're certain this is it.

Whenever he gets good news, or goes on a ride along, or talks to a cop at all really, he gets all pumped up and starts doing pushups and shit. He asked me if I wanted to watch him drop and do 50, and I was like, "yeah but I gotta poop so you'll have to do them in the hallway."

And he did.

I watched him do a bunch of pushups while I sat on the toilet.

That's love. Or familiarity, I'm not sure which.

He saw the ratings on my last post, the sex scene one, and got upset that for the longest time it was a one-star post with three ratings. I told him that I get like 200 views a day, 80% of which are returning visitors, and if only three people marked it down then it's not nearly as devastating of a message as if say 40 people marked it one star. And if that did happen I wouldn't really know what to think, considering I've seen a few late night posts get tagged with a one-star rating, only to wake up the next morning seeing that three or four other people "white knighted" and marked it a bold five stars to cancel the bad rating out.

David's whole theory on the rating system is that if people are rating it low it's going to encourage others to mark it low as well. I installed the ratings system for a few reasons, one being that I like having feedback and I know that not everyone has anything to say every day, and the other being that I'm giving a voice to the haters. I haven't gotten a snotty comment in over a year, and the only comments I moderate are spam. I haven't even really gotten any hate mail, so I figured from the beginning that the posts would receive the occasional malicious one-star because I know who reads here and I know why.

The ratings also get fucked with, I've noticed. People retract their ratings a lot several days after a post goes up. Let's take for example the post where I talk about visiting an old crime scene with Steppy from last week some time. There was a point where it had three one-star ratings, and now it sits with two ratings at three stars. Not only did the numbers change, but the amount of votes did. Yet the post has a bunch of really positive comments from people saying they liked it or it prompted them to tell a story themselves. So does this make the ratings system pointless? I have no control over the ratings, by the way, I don't know who votes and I cant change or delete anything myself.

I've seen people take ratings personally and even disable them on their YouTube channels. I enabled them here because I wanted the feedback, even the negative. I say "rate it even if you hate it" because I don't want someone who seriously hated the post to be afraid of hurting my feelings by saying so. But I feel that it is being misused. There are posts that get five stars that do not deserve five stars in my opinion, and there are posts that get one star that I really enjoyed writing. Perhaps the real results come out when more people vote, like on my Black Friday post that got six ratings that equaled out to three and a half stars.

I'd hate to remove the ratings because I do like them, I just wonder how accurate they can be if people aren't using them, are abusing them, and are messing with them by removing their vote and trying to white knight over other votes. Then again, this is the intarweb: a playground with no rules (except rule 34.) Maybe they should stay up simply because of that.

I don't take the ratings personally, which I know a lot of other people who do and they're exactly the type of people who wouldn't implement them on their blogs or go so far as to disable them. Comments I do take personally, and I moderate them so I can read them all, because honestly even if someone ever does leave something "negative" I'll probably publish it and egg them on, which is not something I would have done back when I was new to the blogging thing and taking every little thing to heart because I didn't understand the game.

David, however, took it personally and thinks I should too. He's also not on the internet very much so I don't think he gets it. Also when I told Steppy that when Bombshell comes back from its second editing I intend to do a full re-write based on the suggestions, and he got really offended as well. Offended for me, that is. Something about how other people don't have the right to change the story, because I told him that it wasn't just grammatical edits but ideas on how to fix scenes to make the story flow better and such, and about how it would have been better if I had just sent it to a professional editor. HA! You really think so? You should see how much ends up on the cutting room floor when you do it that way, and you don't have a choice in changing it back most of the time. I want to do a re-write and I have intended to do one all along. This came as news to him because now he's all worried about how "ruined" it will be.

I cant leave it in the state it's in, I knew there were problems in it and that's why I wanted them fixed. Steppy seems to think that too much editing will change the story, and he loves loves loves the story. He suggested that I do the rewrite at his house in the office they set up for me, but I'm afraid if I do that he'll just try to reverse everything. I know editor 5 is reversing shit from editors 1-4, so I want to be the one who decides on the final, because after all, it is my story. I just like to know what other people think.

I like to know what you think, which is why I turned on the ratings. I'd like to know what you think of the "rate it even if you hate it" system. Tell me why you rate things down or up, and admit it if you white knight the ratings sometimes when you see that they are low.

Not Hot Enough According To Sally

It took me hours to write this scene. Yes, it's another sex scene in rough first draft form, and it's one that took me forever to write because...well...it's the kind of sex that I would never have. Choking, biting, painful angry sex. The kind that the neighbor has with her mens. I shared this scene with her, and she said "Is okay, but needs more something." I'll have you know that I had to watch a lot of dirty internet videos just to get a grasp on how someone could get off on pain, and I still don't get it. Maybe that makes me weak as a writer, but if there is one thing I am good at it's researching the shit out of obscure topics. Again, this is not perfect or anywhere near publishable, but it's there and I am sharing it. Comment and rate it, even if you hate it.

Background: Beth is from Romania, here in America she works at a strip club. She was homeless until recently when she started renting a loft above a sports bar. She's beautiful, she's hot, she's mysterious, and she speaks in really hot broken English, which Cord (who is a bartender at the sports bar) is intrigued by. In this scene, Beth had asked for Cord's help with learning how to take care of her little fish that was gifted to her by our good cop friend Deputy Green...a strange gift, but it's a housewarming sort of thing, you know. Anyway, Beth has only ever had pigs as pets and she innocently asks Cord to meet her upstairs after he gets off of work, which is also when she comes home from dancing at the strip club across town.

Enough background for you? Good. It can be sexy time now.

Sure enough, as soon as she parked in the light in the alley way, she could sense that he was still inside waiting for her. Should she go in through the front doors? Or go in through the back way? She opted for the back way after a quick deliberation and casually made her way up the steps before she headed inside.

She set her purse down and threw off her heels. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her red silk blouse. She heard him coming up the steps from the club, as he must have heard her footfalls in her loft, and a grin of wickedness rose from her lightly painted lips. There was a soft knock at the door, and she walked through the room to go open it just as he was about to knock a second time. Lifting a brow to a point she waved him inside and shut the door behind him. “He’s right over here,” she said and brought him to the fish bowl.

“I saw a guy carry this in earlier,” he said. “You’re not fooling me.”

“Graham is a cop, he’s a friend of Aimee’s,” she assured him.

“You’re lucky I recognize that name, or else I totally wouldn’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you enough to tell you that you need to change his water every few days, and that you should just give him a few little pellets of food,” he said. He took the container and opened it. He pinched a small amount of the tiny brown pellets and sprinkled them onto the water’s surface. The fish merrily swam up to suck them in to his mouth like a vacuum one by one.

“Thank you,” she said.

“So is that all?” he asked, and turned to her, knowing that it couldn’t be all. Beth just looked at him. She had a little girl smile. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and just continued to stare at him with her almond shaped brown eyes as he stood. Somehow Cord knew that she’d hurt him later, but the beginning would be purely delicious to explore.

She took his hands gently and walked backward toward the bed. Slowly she laid down on it, never breaking her hypnotic stare. Cord wasn’t a completely innocent lad, but he considered the thought that this woman just might be too much for him to handle. He was in awe of her as he looked down at her on the bed. Her shoulders framing her round face, the look in her eyes that told him that there was definitely more to her invite than help with a silly fish.

“Come,” she said quietly, and he took off his socks and boots and climbed on top of her. She rested her hand on the side of his cheek and smiled. Timidly his face crept forward and he kissed her, and she accepted his lips. The kiss became more frantic for a moment before he broke it and then started kissing her neck, making a quick and desperate trail down to her cleavage and back up again. He went again for her lips and she stopped him by putting a finger up to them.

“You will do something else for me?” she asked innocently.

“Maybe,” he replied.

“Regardless of the pain?”

“Pain?”

Very slowly she moved him so that he was on his back and she was on top of him. She smiled sweetly as she worked the buttons on his shirt. Once exposed, she began gently kissing his chest, then moving to each nipple and kissing them curiously. Cord had never had a girl play with his nipples before, but just as he was beginning to enjoy the sensations that her tongue was creating, she bit down on one of them, not hard enough to really hurt but definitely hard enough to get his attention.

She slid down the length of his torso and unbuttoned his slacks. She worked the zipper and pulled them down fast, exposing his raging hard dick. “Is cute,” she said, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Gently she bent down to kiss it on the tip, but then began to lick all over it with her tongue. Cord’s body tensed up. God she was beautiful, nothing like he had ever seen before and would probably never see again. He wasn’t sure what she was planning to do to him, but he didn’t dare protest. In fact, he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“Mine,” she whispered as her lips slid down the base of his cock, all the way down until the short hairs were tickling her. “Mine,” she hissed again as she dragged her teeth gently along the length of it. Cord was terrified but completely unable to move.

She sat up again and traced one finger down the length of his body, starting at his forehead, slipping down his neck and chest, encircling his organ, then down the insides of his thighs all the way down to his toes.

“I'm not taking this any further,” she said plainly. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” he cracked.

“Unless you will do whatever I tell you do to, even if it’s scary for you, okay? Otherwise this is over and you can just go right now,” she said coldly.

Something inside of him broke and he nodded his head with a whimper. She smiled at his agreement. She kissed him softly once again, a little tongue invading the gentleness of the kiss, and she smiled wickedly at him, her chocolate hair with vanilla streaks falling around her face like a wave. She moved herself down on his body and hovered over his cock for only a moment before plunging down on it hard, her black skirt bunched up around her waist. She was already wet and throbbing, and his dick felt larger than it looked. She moaned loudly, then grabbed his hair and pulled his head up to look her in the eyes as she worked herself on him angrily.

She gripped his hips with her thighs tightly as she fucked him, her thrusts gaining rhythm and force as her passion gained new heights. Her moans grew in volume and length, and suddenly she stopped to pull off her silken red blouse and unhook her bra. Her breasts were beautiful and round, and bounced slightly with every move.

“So I like I was telling the cop earlier,” she said between panting breaths, “my drivers license number, social security number, license plate number, bank account, they all have six six six, that’s the devil’s number, no?”

He groaned. “Ugh, um…I guess…yeah I think.”

“You think it all coincidence?”

“I…I don’t know,” he said with strained breaths.

“What do you think of this?” she said as she leaned her breasts down in his face, stopping her thrusting momentarily. He gasped, not from the sight, but from her stopping. “What do you think!” she repeated.

“It…it could be an upside down nine,” he said with a shaky voice.

“Spank me,” she said coldly.

“Huh?”

“Spank me!” she shouted, and he moved his hand swiftly to her bottom and clapped it lightly a few times in quick secession. “No, harder! Spank me!” she demanded. Her eyes were demonic and his mouth hung open in shock, fear, and amazement. He cleared his throat and gave her a light but firm smack on her ass cheek. She looked down at him wide eyed, and he slid his other hand down the round curves of her ass and gave her a smack to the other cheek, much harder. Enough to make her jolt. She smiled at him and moved in closer for a kiss. “Is better,” she whispered, “but I need more.”

She slid him out of her wetness and climbed around on the bed to position herself so he could enter her from behind. She looked back at him intently. “Now ride me,” she said, “and pull my hair.”

Cord was beginning to understand that the pain was not meant for him, but for her. This girl liked to be tortured and beat up, and she needed him to help her live out her weird fetishes, something he was sure might have scared off a young man or two…or maybe it hadn’t. Young guys grow up fast with the internet around. This was starting to become fun.

“Fuck me!” she cried angrily, still turned back to look at him. He began to do so without complaint as he pushed himself into her. He grabbed a hold of her long hair and pulled it like horse reins, bucking into her wildly. She cried out from pain or excitement, he wasn’t sure which, and it only made him pull at her hair harder, hard enough to draw her to lift her hands from the bed to rear up with the pull. Cord couldn’t believe how incredible this was, he was on auto-pilot flying through thick clouds of fog. For the first time in his life, he had no consideration for a girl. He didn’t give a shit what she thought about him or what she wanted, he was free to do anything. The outside world and every set of morals and restrictions he had been raised with completely melted away as he pounded at her gorgeous tanned body.

Beth tried hard to hold back, afraid that if she came it would trigger him to go off as well and she wasn’t ready to cut short the sex that she was enjoying so much. It felt so good though, and she found that she couldn’t help herself. Her breath quickened and her body tightened, he sensed what was happening and pulled out of her.

“No,” she cried desperately and loudly. She collapsed onto her stomach and curled up as she looked him in the eyes, biting her lip and whimpering. “No,” she whispered quietly as he sat on his knees towering over her. “No, no, no, no…” she repeated and snuggled up against him hard, her legs open wide over his muscular cock, begging for him to thrust it back into her, but he pushed her away. She nearly melted into a puddle but he stopped her and held her up by the shoulders. He lifted her chin and kissed her passionately, and she nearly fell over again. Still holding her by one of her shoulders, he looked down at the little birthmark on her left breast, of what is either a six or an upside down nine.

“Now do what you were doing earlier,” he said, and pulled her by the hair to guide her face toward his dick. Hungrily she took it into her mouth, all the way down to the base, her eyes staring straight ahead at his lightly hairy belly. The girl gave a classic blow job, except with teeth involved. She could probably bite it off, and maybe she would, and he never felt more alive than he did with that sacred thought.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and pulled her hair so that she would release his cock from the death grip that her mouth had on it; one of the hardest things he has ever had to do. She was calm now, letting him take the lead just as she had wanted from the beginning. She smiled at him and pulled back the blanket on the bed before sliding in, and Cord slid in right behind her. His pants, he cant remember when he took them off, but she’s still wearing her short black skirt that he saw her wearing when she opened the door. Her blouse, most likely torn to shreds on the floor. He had no idea and he didn’t give a shit.

He laid there next to her for a minute, and her body felt so warm and good pressed against his. He slid her skirt down her legs so that he could feel all of her skin against all of his. He kissed her lightly before climbing between her parted legs. He rubbed his cock against her clit a few times, and it made her shudder. With her lip caught firmly between her teeth, he lined up and pushed forward and glided in easily because of her wetness. Her soft body gripped his form as she lifted her knees toward her shoulders. He slid into her deeply and repeatedly, fucking fast and smooth. Her legs soon wrapped around his torso and she turned her face up into a silent scream with his cock buried deep inside of her. She tightened around him hard, and with one strained moan after another she violently convulsed beneath him as she came. He held her down and continued to fuck her, his thrusts rocking her now limbering body so hard that her head was smacking the headboard.

His balls slapped her ass hard and fast, and she gathered the strength to slap his ass as hard as she could from her position to add to his excitement, and oh it did. It was an exquisite pain that took him even closer to the brink so quickly that he thought he was going to lose his load right then, but instead he just plowed into his thighs harder, their hips colliding, and he reached up to grip her throat. A smile crept across her face for a moment, until his grip became too tight and her breathing was halted completely, but he loosened his grip just enough for her to take in a gulp of air before squeezing it shut again. He had power over her breathing, over her life, and if she wasn’t in to that kind of thing he surely didn’t care, because seeing her face turn to a slight panic with the thought that he wasn’t going to let up was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

He let go of her throat and she snarled at him. “Mine,” she whispered, and bit into his neck. It sent him into a frenzy. She was sucking so hard, he had no idea if he was bleeding, if he was about to die, and it set something off in him. He came inside of her, a hot jet shooting deep within her. Cord didn’t know anything about her. She could be a vampire, or Satan in delectable human girl form. She could be pregnant for all he knew. They’re unprotected. He wanted to say that he loved her but it wasn’t the right time…was it?

Her hands gripped his ass, a gentle fingertip on his asshole as she sucked hard one last time from his neck, and let her head fall back on the pillow. He collapsed on top of her and shuddered, still buried and going limp inside of her. He breathed in the strip club beer and perfume scent of her hair, and he shifted to bury his face in the curve of her neck.

“I don’t like men sleeping in my bed, you have to go home now,” she said, cutting the warm silence.

“What? Seriously?” he asked with confusion.

“Yes. Go now, okay? Your pants are over there,” she pointed, then snuggled up in her sheets. She yawned as he hopped on one foot to put his pants back on. “Lock the door when you go, I don’t want someone coming up to rape me while I sleep,” she said, then drifted off to sleep.

Cord’s head was spinning as he scrambled to find his other boot under her bed. He had no idea what happened, and before he headed for the door with his boots untied, he checked the mirror to see if there were holes in his neck where she had bit and sucked it so hard as if she were drinking from it. No holes, just a round circle of bite marks and a deep purple hickey mark in the center.

Twenty Seven

Cord was rather disheveled at work the next day. He was tired and not as boisterous and cheerful with the customers. Sure, it was the daytime shift and those customers don’t really appreciate the cheerfulness since they were pretty much just alcoholics, but Jason noticed that he seemed really out of it.

“What’s up butter cup?” he asked him sympathetically.

Cord sighed, and looked over toward the stairs as he saw her walking down slowly. She smiled a thin smile at him briefly, but then hurried out the door. He wondered for a moment why she chose to use that door instead of her private entrance.

“I think Beth is a vampire,” he said.

“You slept with her?” Jason asked affirmingly.

“I don’t really know what we did…but I think I’m in love with her. I'm in love with a vampire stripper.”

“Well, isn't love like blood sucking?” Jason offered. “You stick the fangs in, you share the blood, and you live forever.”

“No, I mean like she’s actually a vampire. Like Dracula, except hot.”

“Well you did say that she’s from Transylvania. What are you going to do, Cord?”

Cord sighed again. “Avoid eating garlic bread, I guess.”