It's hard to clean up your act when at times it seems that the world is teeming with potential lovers. For a while there I made it my goal to turn all of the those potentials into actuals and was always surprised (sometimes amused as well,) by how easy it was. But I'm a little older now, I'm a little more mature, and I finally have a clearer idea as to what I want out of a relationship. Getting to this point wasn't easy, but I have no regrets. Everything I have done in the past I did fully aware of any repercussions that could result from my actions.
So the mess I had made of my love life is starting to sparkle, shiny and new, after taking a few gallons of bleach and a wire bristle scrub brush to it. The decision to do that didn't come from my want for something real, I made it as a result of discovering, "Hey girl, you need to respect yourself a little more. You can't live your life waking up in a different bed every morning or kicking a different man out of your's every night."
Do I miss those nights of sleazy, rock & roll debauchery fueled by alcohol and hormones? Sometimes. A lot actually. But the nice thing is knowing I can still have them without putting my mind, heart and body at risk.
Reaching for that bucket of bleach was not easy. I hesitated several times. And just because I finally did it doesn't mean that I'm a reformed bad girl in any way. I'm a bad girl at heart and always will be. It's just finding someone who enjoys being bad right along with me. Part of me thinks I found that in my Parkesburg Boy...
August Free Styling, #7
Soaking up the sun and
getting ripped on cheap beer
Shit, I need to restock the fridge
The baby jumps off
the diving board all on his own
even though he can't yet
pronounce the word for it
Fire up the grill
Sorry, it's propane
Make a tomato salad
We'll all feast on the deck
and I'll hose it down afterward
Quiet weekdays in the backyard
deciding what I want
to do with my life
Cut the grass
weed the flowerbeds
but watch out for the bugs
that have made them their home
Smoke another cigarette
Do I have enough to
last me through morning?
On days I don't work
I get drunk by the pool
but I swear I don't
have a problem.
getting ripped on cheap beer
Shit, I need to restock the fridge
The baby jumps off
the diving board all on his own
even though he can't yet
pronounce the word for it
Fire up the grill
Sorry, it's propane
Make a tomato salad
We'll all feast on the deck
and I'll hose it down afterward
Quiet weekdays in the backyard
deciding what I want
to do with my life
Cut the grass
weed the flowerbeds
but watch out for the bugs
that have made them their home
Smoke another cigarette
Do I have enough to
last me through morning?
On days I don't work
I get drunk by the pool
but I swear I don't
have a problem.
August Free Styling, #6
It's a Black Keys and Pixies
kind of summer
and I haven't seen too many
cicada killers around lately
Take me on the boat
one more time so I can see
goosebumps cover my brown skin
But he doesn't call
like he used to and I guess
"It is what it is,"
(Or was what it was?)
My mind seems to
be doing okay these days
One life ends soon after
a new one begins.
Follow me to Southern Cali
we'll make meals
out of guacamole
Have another beer and we'll listen
to the Doobie Brothers
Celebrating birthdays with
rum-fueled sex and
black lace panties
Maybe I'll put on that
red lipstick you like so much
Loving my tan lines
and twenty-something skin.
Holy Shit We're In the Second Row
My second 311 show of the summer was at the PNC Bank Arts Center in Holmdel, New Jersey, about two hours from my house and 45 minutes from one of my best friends who lives in Clifton. Since VIP packages were not offered for the Philly show, I went scored them for this one and paid out my ass for Platinum VIP tickets for her and I. Included was a meet & greet, pictures, front row seating and merchandise.
It was the day before my 29th birthday, so I considered this show a continuation of my birthday celebrations.
I got to Jenny's early in the afternoon and we headed down to the pavilion to get in some tailgating before the show. (I was surprised to learn that Jenny really isn't into tailgating, but the both of us had a lot on our minds at the time so it wasn't a big deal.) It was also one of the hottest days of the year, and I was so paranoid about giving sweaty hugs to all of the band members.
I kept getting more and more nervous as it came time for us to meet the band. This was the first time I was coming face to face with the people who create the music that has been the soundtrack to my life for over ten years. I was afraid I would start gushing and not be able to control it, I was afraid of making a fool of myself, even a little concerned that I might throw up.
"Holy shit I can't believe we're about to meet this band!"
"I know, right?"
"I think I'm going to puke."
Jenny looks at me incredulously.
"No, you're not. But there is a trash can over there."
The entire time we're in line I'm reminding myself to breathe. And I'm sweating. Like a whore in church. We're all sweating. I could feel it dripping down my back and between my boobs. Nice, I'm going to meet 311 and drops of my sweat will be smearing the sharpie ink as they sign my poster.
I had managed to collect myself enough to not act like a fool once I got up to the table. Surprisingly, it didn't all pass by in one big blur. I walked up to the table, put my poster down, and just grinned at Tim Mahoney. He grinned back, but I couldn't find my voice. How do you tell someone who has no idea you even exist that you adore them without sounding like a weirdo? Luckily he broke the silence that was about to become awkward.
"Hey! I'm Tim!"
He holds out his hand and I take it, shaking hands with my second rock legend in less than a week.
"I...I know who you are! I...I'm Dana!"
As he signed my poster, I thanked him for all he does as a musician and that the band's music has been such a huge part of my life. He looked up and saw how overcome with emotion I was, then promptly stood up and gave me a huge hug.
Nick Hexum was sitting next to Tim, and I told him the same thing, that I can't believe I got the opportunity to stand there and tell the band I love how much their music means to me.
"You guys are what make it possible for us."
Chad Sexton was sitting next to Nick, and I went through the same spiel, thanking him for doing what he does, and grinning like a fool while he signed my poster.
"Your friend said you're going to throw up. Please don't."
"I think I'll be okay, I've made it this far."
"Ok, good."
By the time I got to SA I was on the verge of squealing like a fangirl. My face hurt from grinning so much. I did manage to tell him that my brother and I see them in Philly every summer to celebrate our birthdays.
"That's so cool, when is your birthday?"
"It's...um...Oh my God! It's tomorrow!"
Yes, I had actually forgotten that my birthday was the next day. The guys all wished me a happy birthday and SA wrote it on my poster.
I turned to Pnut and he gave me a big, goofy grin. We shook hands and as he added his signature to my poster I gushed on, again, thanking him for all the band does, the music, the shows, the all-around positivity that they promote. That's when I started getting emotional and could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I actually just stopped talking mid sentence, Pnut abruptly stood up and gave me a huge hug.
We then took our places in line again to have our pictures taken with the band. Since Jenny and I were the second to last for the signing, we were second in line for pictures. Much to my delight, Tim latched onto me as soon as we walked over. (I have a special place in my heart for that man.)
As you can tell, I was in Heaven. I mean, all you can see is my teeth. It was by far one of the best nights of my life.
It was the day before my 29th birthday, so I considered this show a continuation of my birthday celebrations.
 |
| Jenny and I in the parking lot. |
I kept getting more and more nervous as it came time for us to meet the band. This was the first time I was coming face to face with the people who create the music that has been the soundtrack to my life for over ten years. I was afraid I would start gushing and not be able to control it, I was afraid of making a fool of myself, even a little concerned that I might throw up.
"Holy shit I can't believe we're about to meet this band!"
"I know, right?"
"I think I'm going to puke."
Jenny looks at me incredulously.
"No, you're not. But there is a trash can over there."
 |
| Tim Mahoney signing Jenny's poster. |
I had managed to collect myself enough to not act like a fool once I got up to the table. Surprisingly, it didn't all pass by in one big blur. I walked up to the table, put my poster down, and just grinned at Tim Mahoney. He grinned back, but I couldn't find my voice. How do you tell someone who has no idea you even exist that you adore them without sounding like a weirdo? Luckily he broke the silence that was about to become awkward.
"Hey! I'm Tim!"
He holds out his hand and I take it, shaking hands with my second rock legend in less than a week.
"I...I know who you are! I...I'm Dana!"
As he signed my poster, I thanked him for all he does as a musician and that the band's music has been such a huge part of my life. He looked up and saw how overcome with emotion I was, then promptly stood up and gave me a huge hug.
 |
| Nick, Chad, SA and Pnut. |
"You guys are what make it possible for us."
Chad Sexton was sitting next to Nick, and I went through the same spiel, thanking him for doing what he does, and grinning like a fool while he signed my poster.
"Your friend said you're going to throw up. Please don't."
"I think I'll be okay, I've made it this far."
"Ok, good."
By the time I got to SA I was on the verge of squealing like a fangirl. My face hurt from grinning so much. I did manage to tell him that my brother and I see them in Philly every summer to celebrate our birthdays.
"That's so cool, when is your birthday?"
"It's...um...Oh my God! It's tomorrow!"
Yes, I had actually forgotten that my birthday was the next day. The guys all wished me a happy birthday and SA wrote it on my poster.
I turned to Pnut and he gave me a big, goofy grin. We shook hands and as he added his signature to my poster I gushed on, again, thanking him for all the band does, the music, the shows, the all-around positivity that they promote. That's when I started getting emotional and could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I actually just stopped talking mid sentence, Pnut abruptly stood up and gave me a huge hug.
We then took our places in line again to have our pictures taken with the band. Since Jenny and I were the second to last for the signing, we were second in line for pictures. Much to my delight, Tim latched onto me as soon as we walked over. (I have a special place in my heart for that man.)
 |
| Nick, Jenny, Chad, SA, me, Pnut and Tim. |
 |
| What I call the blooper photo. |
Stories That Need To Be Told
Grandmom had 12 children, of which 6 brothers survived, my grandfather being one of them. Now only Uncle Johnny, Uncle Louie and Uncle Leo are still around.
All weekend I caught snippets of conversations between the cousins, and it dawned on me that I need to seriously consider sitting down and writing a collection of stories about our family. I miss my grandparents immensely, and I love hearing stories about how ornery my PopPop could be - like the time a cop pulled him for tailgating an ambulance and he flipped out on the poor guy.
The Papilis are something else. I don't know too many families quite like ours. We band together when things get tough, and we share all the good times. It's completely normal for the 4th (my) generation cousins to all be out together on a Friday night. Unfortunately, the 5th generation that is quickly expanding, will only know how things were "back in the day" through story telling.
I would love to sit down with my great uncles and record all of their stories. The same goes for my mom's first cousins. We have our ups and downs like any other family, but we are truly a blessed bunch of Guidos, so I'm going to start talking to family members and get our long, crazy, funny, tragic, beautiful story down on paper.
 |
| 63 members of the Pip Family; there was 20 or 30 of us who weren't able to be there. |
August Free Styling, #5
Birthday surprises
something like a trifecta
But don't worry about
feeling any guilt
Just get up and go to work
blue eyes, dark hair
brown eyes and caramel skin
calling me from another state
at two o'clock in the morning
happy birthday to me.
Can we get to the beach
a few more times
before the summer is over?
You can go kayaking
I'll sit on the beach
and wait for you
Is there room at the house
Labor Day Weekend?
something like a trifecta
But don't worry about
feeling any guilt
Just get up and go to work
blue eyes, dark hair
brown eyes and caramel skin
calling me from another state
at two o'clock in the morning
happy birthday to me.
Can we get to the beach
a few more times
before the summer is over?
You can go kayaking
I'll sit on the beach
and wait for you
Is there room at the house
Labor Day Weekend?
August Free Styling, #4
Smoking and drinking
on the edge of the pool
our feet dangling in the water
Dark Paradise floating through
the cool night air
and the water is so warm.
Up and down a new set of stairs
There's no backyard in Parkesburg
making the drive more often now
Seeing that familiar
bright white light while lying on my back
in his as yet unpacked bedroom.
Sucking it up and driving
up and down the East coast
Go to the beach
Go to Philly
I'm staying up in Jersey tonight
Yet North Wilmington seems
a million miles away.
August Free Styling, #3
The house smells like a
crab boil and fried hot peppers
The hallway is so bright
I don't need to turn the light on
Balloon animals and Bud Light
Wait I can't get the lid
Back on the Sambuca
Work and play, play and work
You're shopping
at all of the wrong stores
Dancing on the deck
Overlooking the Sassafras
While my brother plays
our father's guitar
and Mama is blinking back tears.
crab boil and fried hot peppers
The hallway is so bright
I don't need to turn the light on
Balloon animals and Bud Light
Wait I can't get the lid
Back on the Sambuca
Work and play, play and work
You're shopping
at all of the wrong stores
Dancing on the deck
Overlooking the Sassafras
While my brother plays
our father's guitar
and Mama is blinking back tears.
August Free Styling #2
Who wants to read
writing about writing
Does it even matter
Celebrity sightings
waterfront dining
Remember I threw up
into the bay that one New Year's Eve
clutching that railing over there
I have maybe thirty dollars
to my name
Does it even matter
All I want to do is write
alongside my photography.
August Free Styling
I'm starting a new series of posts that will be a collection of my observations throughout each month. I got the idea as I was sitting on my bed looking through the little notebook I keep in my purse, which is already half filled with book titles, author names, things I've seen and things I've felt at various moments throughout my day.
I decided to string them all together in a new journal to see what I come up with. It's free-form type of journalism that I'm experimenting with, so please enjoy -
Sitting on the beach
I decided to string them all together in a new journal to see what I come up with. It's free-form type of journalism that I'm experimenting with, so please enjoy -
Sitting on the beach
watching the waves
crash onto the shore
Reading Traveling With Pomegranates
Listening to chatter all around me
Flags are waving in the breeze
Mothers pushing strollers
through the sand
Sun peeking in and out
from behind the clouds
Kites tennis balls sandcastles
salt air, sticky skin
I just want to write
collecting my thoughts on paper
making sense or not
It's what I want.
Please Don't Ask My Brother If He Wants To See Pictures of Me - 311 at Festival Pier
I never got around to recapping my 311 experiences this summer, so I'll start with the show at Festival Pier on Penns Landing in Philadelphia on July 27, 2012. This was the annual birthday celebration for my brother and I, of course. My friend T was able to join us and the three of us had a blast. It made me happy to see the both of them, stressed over work and family life, be able to let loose and genuinely enjoy themselves, even if only for a few hours.
We drove up to Philly in my car, my brother in the passenger seat and T in the back, drinking his Captain and diet Coke. I was nervous about Hamilton meeting T; I'm always nervous having my brother meet a guy I'm either seeing, sleeping with (whether he's aware or not...but he's not stupid,) or even just friends with. I've been over how protective Hamilton is, not to mention the fact that T is significantly older than I. I had a feeling they'd hit it off and I was right. They talked shop the entire drive up, I couldn't get a word in edgewise and once the benevolent ball-busting started, I relaxed.
We tailgated for a bit in the parking lot next to Dave & Buster's and my excitement over getting ready to see my favorite band for the umpteenth time kept growing, along with the urge to pee. I was getting drunk and my pride was disappearing so I finally opened the back driver's side door and T, God love him, stood in the gap between it and the car next to us while I relieved myself for what seemed like an hour.
"Can you stop staring at me? You've seen it before."
"Yeah, but not in a public parking lot overlooking the river with your brother standing twenty feet away."
"Well have him make sure no one comes back here...holy shit, I can't stop peeing...hey, um, you might want to move your foot."
"Are you done yet?"
"No! It won't stop!"
He's laughing his ass off, and I am too. High class trash is what we call it baby, high class trash. Needless to say, I didn't have to go to the bathroom for the rest of the evening, anything liquid I consumed I sweat out almost immediately.
The show itself was fucking awesome, what can I say? I love 311 with all my heart, one of the main reasons being that they put all of their heart into their music and their shows. Hammie even hoisted me on his shoulders for a few minutes so I could get some good shots while T held my purse.
It was a hot night, the setlist was mind-blowing. "Watching you dance and having the time of your life..." And dance I did, with either my brother or T twirling me around the whole time. When it was over I felt that familiar sense of satisfaction and joy that I get after every 311 show. The three of us ended up back at a private club, played some pool, had a few beers then eventually called it a night. And my satisfaction never stopped coming. ;-)
We drove up to Philly in my car, my brother in the passenger seat and T in the back, drinking his Captain and diet Coke. I was nervous about Hamilton meeting T; I'm always nervous having my brother meet a guy I'm either seeing, sleeping with (whether he's aware or not...but he's not stupid,) or even just friends with. I've been over how protective Hamilton is, not to mention the fact that T is significantly older than I. I had a feeling they'd hit it off and I was right. They talked shop the entire drive up, I couldn't get a word in edgewise and once the benevolent ball-busting started, I relaxed.
"Can you stop staring at me? You've seen it before."
"Yeah, but not in a public parking lot overlooking the river with your brother standing twenty feet away."
"Well have him make sure no one comes back here...holy shit, I can't stop peeing...hey, um, you might want to move your foot."
"Are you done yet?"
"No! It won't stop!"
He's laughing his ass off, and I am too. High class trash is what we call it baby, high class trash. Needless to say, I didn't have to go to the bathroom for the rest of the evening, anything liquid I consumed I sweat out almost immediately.
 |
| ...and this is where my shirt ended up. |
More Comic Relief From the Home Front, Part 3
I get a little upset when people say to me, referring to Nico, "Well, yeah, but he's just your nephew." No. He's so much more than that. He's my brother & sister in law's baby, he's my baby, he's my mom's baby. I love to look out the window and see my brother's big-ass white truck pull up, knowing our house is about to turn into chaos.
And the scenario today goes:
My brother is ordering pizza via online (something I still can't even comprehend,) Nico is playing with Ma's decorative stuff sitting on the china cabinet in our dining room. When asked what he's doing, the response is, "I'm cooking!" My brother and I discuss what pizza toppings we want while you can hear Nico in the background make believe cooking, "It's hot! Ouch! I drink mah coff-ee!"
Hammie goes upstairs to take a shower, (thank God, he smelled pretty bad,) so Nico is downstairs with me, content playing with a ceramic sugar bowl, coffee cups and coffeepot. Until, of course, he realizes Daddy is no longer in the room. Once he discovered Daddy was in the shower, he decided he needed one too. (Truthfully, the baby did, having come in the house all sweaty from playing on the playground at school and remnants of lunch still on his face.)
"Dane, does he have any clean clothes here?" yells my brother from the shower.
"I don't think so man, I think he's worn them all home to your house. We have some pajamas..."
I turn around and Nico has his pull-up at his ankle and is about to hurl it in my direction. Luckily I thwarted him because, damn, that thing was heavy with pee.
I mean, I don't think it's weird that I'm in the bathroom at the same time my brother is taking a shower, looking for a bar of soap for him - "Just use whatever body wash I have in there!"
"I don't like body wash!"
"Whatever dude, just don't use up a new towel, the one you used last time is still hanging up."
After pulling out Nico's "I *heart* MomMom" tee shirt and leaving it on the bed, I go back downstairs to work some more on my blog, (hence the start of this post.) Nico bounds down the stairs a few minutes later, his MomMom tee shirt now short enough to show his belly, and runs around the house like a madman. This is all before dinner.
Now my brother in weirdly engrossed in the movie D2: The Mighty Ducks, & I find myself peeking up from my laptop every so often to watch.
This is time spent with my family that I wouldn't trade for the world. The random facial expressions Nico makes at the dinner table, my brother pretending to fart on his head, then the baby in turn running up to me and pretending to do the same, hearing him tell Ma he loves her a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, playing This Little Piggy... with his toes, even the constant heckling my brother slams me with. Nope, wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
And the scenario today goes:
My brother is ordering pizza via online (something I still can't even comprehend,) Nico is playing with Ma's decorative stuff sitting on the china cabinet in our dining room. When asked what he's doing, the response is, "I'm cooking!" My brother and I discuss what pizza toppings we want while you can hear Nico in the background make believe cooking, "It's hot! Ouch! I drink mah coff-ee!"
Hammie goes upstairs to take a shower, (thank God, he smelled pretty bad,) so Nico is downstairs with me, content playing with a ceramic sugar bowl, coffee cups and coffeepot. Until, of course, he realizes Daddy is no longer in the room. Once he discovered Daddy was in the shower, he decided he needed one too. (Truthfully, the baby did, having come in the house all sweaty from playing on the playground at school and remnants of lunch still on his face.)
"Dane, does he have any clean clothes here?" yells my brother from the shower.
"I don't think so man, I think he's worn them all home to your house. We have some pajamas..."
I turn around and Nico has his pull-up at his ankle and is about to hurl it in my direction. Luckily I thwarted him because, damn, that thing was heavy with pee.
I mean, I don't think it's weird that I'm in the bathroom at the same time my brother is taking a shower, looking for a bar of soap for him - "Just use whatever body wash I have in there!"
"I don't like body wash!"
"Whatever dude, just don't use up a new towel, the one you used last time is still hanging up."
After pulling out Nico's "I *heart* MomMom" tee shirt and leaving it on the bed, I go back downstairs to work some more on my blog, (hence the start of this post.) Nico bounds down the stairs a few minutes later, his MomMom tee shirt now short enough to show his belly, and runs around the house like a madman. This is all before dinner.
Now my brother in weirdly engrossed in the movie D2: The Mighty Ducks, & I find myself peeking up from my laptop every so often to watch.
This is time spent with my family that I wouldn't trade for the world. The random facial expressions Nico makes at the dinner table, my brother pretending to fart on his head, then the baby in turn running up to me and pretending to do the same, hearing him tell Ma he loves her a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, playing This Little Piggy... with his toes, even the constant heckling my brother slams me with. Nope, wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
Why I'm Glad I Never Became That MC's Girlfriend
This is all speculation from events I have witnessed in the past, things I've been told, observations I have made on my own, and only pertain to one specific person. I am not referring to every MC I know, because I know not all of them are like him.
I was on my way to meet my girl friend for dinner the other night and reasons why I'm relieved that I ended my relationship with someone who became an MC started popping into my head.
Granted, MC or not, he treated me like shit. I've gotten past the heartbreak of leaving him for the most part and it's easy to remember the good times we had together...but sometimes anger still surfaces - at him for being utterly disregarding of how his words and actions affected those around him, and myself for being so deluded about our relationship.
The path he chose is a downward spiral, (not all related to having become an MC, either.) The second I realized I wanted no parts of it - that I have my whole life ahead of me, I have potential to make something of myself, I have love to shower on someone who deserves it and will return it - the darkness, gloom, and anxiety faded away.
"You're right - I am young.
I have my whole life ahead of me.
I don't want your bullshit.
I don't need your bullshit.
FUCK your BULLSHIT."
And I made my point by walking out of his life forever, which was the smartest thing I could have ever done.
So while driving to dinner that night I realized, if I had been that MC's girlfriend, I would not have necessarily been able to have him join my friend and I. It dawned on me just how drastically my life would have changed for the worse and these are my reasons why:
I was on my way to meet my girl friend for dinner the other night and reasons why I'm relieved that I ended my relationship with someone who became an MC started popping into my head.
Granted, MC or not, he treated me like shit. I've gotten past the heartbreak of leaving him for the most part and it's easy to remember the good times we had together...but sometimes anger still surfaces - at him for being utterly disregarding of how his words and actions affected those around him, and myself for being so deluded about our relationship.
The path he chose is a downward spiral, (not all related to having become an MC, either.) The second I realized I wanted no parts of it - that I have my whole life ahead of me, I have potential to make something of myself, I have love to shower on someone who deserves it and will return it - the darkness, gloom, and anxiety faded away.
"You're right - I am young.
I have my whole life ahead of me.
I don't want your bullshit.
I don't need your bullshit.
FUCK your BULLSHIT."
And I made my point by walking out of his life forever, which was the smartest thing I could have ever done.
So while driving to dinner that night I realized, if I had been that MC's girlfriend, I would not have necessarily been able to have him join my friend and I. It dawned on me just how drastically my life would have changed for the worse and these are my reasons why:
- Most well-respected establishments do not permit hard colors. So there would go dinners at high class restaurants, drinks at ritzy bars, even drinks at most dive bars, getting into concerts and shows without being given a hard time, etc.
- I like to flirt, boyfriend or not, and that, God forbid, is not tolerated.
- I would have been blatantly disrespected because he would have run around on me. (Shit, he fucked anything that would let him even when we were seeing each other.) I would never stand for being run around on, because that, as it was explained to me, they are "allowed" to do, and more or less encouraged to. It killed me to see women considered a "girlfriend" overlook it, even go as far to accept it, women who I thought had some sort of self respect. I'm sorry, but when I heard that even his boys consider him a big whore, I thought, "Wow, it has got to be worse than it ever was." *Side note - he and I never claimed exclusivity. I had my own fun behind his back, sometimes even going as far to rub it in his face which, in retrospect, made me no better than him.
- Family functions? Forget it.
- I can just see how life would have become like constantly walking on egg shells. It didn't matter how much fun I had hanging out with a particular group of people. It didn't matter how much I enjoyed flirting with his "brothers," (which apparently was not a big deal because I didn't carry the "girlfriend" title and the boys either respected him or me, or I had managed to make it crystal clear that it was flirting and nothing more, I don't know, I never really could tell.) Why would anyone choose to live their life constantly watching their own back or being responsible for watching someone else's?
- Drama drama drama. Stupid drama. That's all that was ever going on. I was never involved, but I guarantee if I was a girlfriend, I'd be dragged in unwillingly or not. I rolled my eyes behind his back so many times I thought they were going to end up permanently stuck to the back of my lids. Who has time for that shit?
- I would have never known what he was doing, where he was going, or where he was coming from. He hid everything from everyone.
- Word on the street now is that said MC is back to being an addict after several years of sobriety. That's a pill that was quite difficult for me to swallow (pun intended.) As upset as I was when I found out, I have since let it go because a) I have no control over him, and b) He's a grown man that is responsible for his own decisions. In addition to constant worry that he'd disappear for good one day, I'd be worrying about whether or not he was on the bike fucked up, whether or not he was around his kids high out of his mind, fearful of the awful mood swings I had seen from him before, and of course a phone call in the middle of the night telling me that he had OD'ed or waking up to find him dead next to me.
- I am rambunctious, outspoken, and happy-go-lucky for the most part. I never hesitated to call him out, even in front of the boys, but that surely would have changed had I been given the girlfriend title. Why be in a relationship where I can't speak my mind? I did that once already, and once is enough.
- The bullshit would have driven me utterly insane and turned me into someone I'm not. Looking back on it, I can't blame the one girl who whacked her old man upside his head with a frying pan, or the other one who ran her car into her old man's garage door and caused a couple grand's worth of damage. I'm not proud to say that I have no doubt in my mind this guy would have pushed my sanity over the edge and I would have ended up burning his fucking house down, but the level of the mind-fucking game that he plays on probably would have resulted in me being arrested for arson.
More Comic Relief From the Home Front
Is it so wrong that my brother and I get a huge kick out of my nephew making farting sounds? Or actually doing it and grabbing his little butt exclaiming, "Oh! My hiney popped!" We for some reason think bodily functions are hilarious. A classy people, we are. My mother is always just shaking her head and telling us, "Don't teach him that!"
The scenario:
Last Thursday night we're sitting around the table after dinner and a conversation about how the word "fart" makes one of my aunts giggle uncontrollably, just like it did my grandmother. I'm almost positive it was triggered by my brother ripping ass for real and Nico giving his infamous shocked expression. So my brother just goes with it and yes, he starts making farting noises with his hand. Like he's ten. And we laughed and laughed. I got the brilliant idea to try and videotape it like Nico was the one expelling gas. It didn't work out quite as planned but the footage I got is priceless.
After all of the trauma this family has been through, we've learned that the stupid little things that make us laugh are what's important. Even if it's something as crude as a fart joke.
The scenario:
Last Thursday night we're sitting around the table after dinner and a conversation about how the word "fart" makes one of my aunts giggle uncontrollably, just like it did my grandmother. I'm almost positive it was triggered by my brother ripping ass for real and Nico giving his infamous shocked expression. So my brother just goes with it and yes, he starts making farting noises with his hand. Like he's ten. And we laughed and laughed. I got the brilliant idea to try and videotape it like Nico was the one expelling gas. It didn't work out quite as planned but the footage I got is priceless.
Turns Out This Month I'll Be Okay
I got two separate paychecks last week and was able to pay my bills, right before my cell phone was about to get shut off. Yeah, yeah, I need to budget my money better. I thought I had been, but as one of my dear friends said to me, "Holes can appear when you least expect it, and you'll get yourself out, I know you will." And I did without having to ask anyone for help, thank God. It was amazing how quickly my depression and anxiety lifted the second I signed on to my bank account and saw the deposits that had been made, one of which was much larger than I had anticipated.
So my plan is to do what every financial adviser tells us - make sure I have at least three months worth of bill payments stashed away, and if I'm really committed, four months with enough in my savings left over to have a comfortable little nest egg. It sounds simple, but if it was, I wouldn't have been in the position I was two weeks ago. So let's just take that as another wake-up call. Then next summer, I can lay around the pool, not work, not worry about collecting unemployment, not worry about my bills being paid, and use the paychecks I do get for the sporadic work I do in the summer to go party down in Dewey Beach.
Sounds like a plan to me.
So my plan is to do what every financial adviser tells us - make sure I have at least three months worth of bill payments stashed away, and if I'm really committed, four months with enough in my savings left over to have a comfortable little nest egg. It sounds simple, but if it was, I wouldn't have been in the position I was two weeks ago. So let's just take that as another wake-up call. Then next summer, I can lay around the pool, not work, not worry about collecting unemployment, not worry about my bills being paid, and use the paychecks I do get for the sporadic work I do in the summer to go party down in Dewey Beach.
Sounds like a plan to me.
My Pen Refuses To Leave the Paper
The second I proclaimed to myself, and aloud to my uncle because he was the one sitting next to me on the beach, that I want to be a writer and am going to make it happen, I dug out a little notebook I had buried in my bag and started scribbling down observations of what was going on around me. I have found this to be helpful in my quest to figure out what exactly it is I want to write about. Through doing this, a few ideas have already surfaced.
I am an avid journal keeper as well. I've got books that date back to high school, and not just little spiral bound notebooks. They're thick, hard-covered volumes, all hand written. One of my fears was that pursuing this blog and other writing ventures would take away from my journal writing - it's a form of therapy for me, really - but I don't think it will.
Now the questions I ask myself are -
For now some of my ideas must continue to ferment; it's time to start getting ready to leave the house for a 10:00 appointment with my therapist.
I am an avid journal keeper as well. I've got books that date back to high school, and not just little spiral bound notebooks. They're thick, hard-covered volumes, all hand written. One of my fears was that pursuing this blog and other writing ventures would take away from my journal writing - it's a form of therapy for me, really - but I don't think it will.
Now the questions I ask myself are -
- What excites me enough that I want to write about it and share it with the world?
- Do I have a novel somewhere inside of my brain?
- What type of POV am I most comfortable writing in? First person? Second person? Third person limited?
- Should I start with poetry or short stories?
For now some of my ideas must continue to ferment; it's time to start getting ready to leave the house for a 10:00 appointment with my therapist.
Goals for My Writing
Now that I've decided to take this writing thing seriously, I've become very excited about it. I find myself constantly thinking about what I want to write about, sorting and sifting thoughts in my brain and writing down thoughts, sentences, or even just a word I think might be of significance at some point. My Nook, a pen and a small notepad are always within reach.
I've always been a constant reader, now my passion for reading is in overdrive and I'm scrambling for books to keep up with it. I just downloaded Write Good or Die by Scott Nicholson and can't stop reading it. It's a collection of advice by various writers that has already given me good ideas and confirmed pointers I already know. I've also started exploring the word of literary magazines, an untapped resource I knew about but didn't realize could provide me with tips, advice and reading material all at once. A few that jumped out at me are Every Writer's Resource.com, Tin House, Surreal Grotesque Magazine, and The Write Room. Now I just wish I had an iPad to carry with me so I can read some of the amazing short stories and poetry published on these sites when I have down time.
As far as the goals I'm setting for myself,
I've always been a constant reader, now my passion for reading is in overdrive and I'm scrambling for books to keep up with it. I just downloaded Write Good or Die by Scott Nicholson and can't stop reading it. It's a collection of advice by various writers that has already given me good ideas and confirmed pointers I already know. I've also started exploring the word of literary magazines, an untapped resource I knew about but didn't realize could provide me with tips, advice and reading material all at once. A few that jumped out at me are Every Writer's Resource.com, Tin House, Surreal Grotesque Magazine, and The Write Room. Now I just wish I had an iPad to carry with me so I can read some of the amazing short stories and poetry published on these sites when I have down time.
As far as the goals I'm setting for myself,
- Write everyday, no matter how bad it turns out, no matter how little I get accomplished. Just get words onto paper. Or my computer screen.
- Continue to devour every book I get my hands on.
- Accept the fact that I am not Erica Jong. Or Henry Miller. Or Anais Nin. Or Stephen King.
- Work on finding my own voice, my own style, and figuring out what excites me so much that I want to write about it and share it with the world.
Hoping To Make It This Month
Luckily last Thursday morning I had an appointment with my therapist. She's wonderful and is really helping me learn to value and respect myself, and being as that I was feeling so low due to my financial situation, I was grateful for having the appointment when I did. She reassured me that I will turn it around, and that I'm not in as bad a place as I was two years ago. I realized that I need to buckle down and get a second job; just work my ass off over the next year to be sure that this truly never happens again. I hate living like this, but I love my job and can't imagine leaving it. There's only one bill that I know I cannot default on, and I might have to swallow my pride and ask for help with it.
It's amazing how money can screw with a person's head. The stress and worry that comes with not being able to pay the bills can be utterly detrimental to one's mental health. I know it is for me. So over the next couple of weeks I will be hustling my ass off to set it all straight again. I just applied for a waitressing gig at a well-known restaurant that a girl friend of mine bartends at and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I need this.
It's amazing how money can screw with a person's head. The stress and worry that comes with not being able to pay the bills can be utterly detrimental to one's mental health. I know it is for me. So over the next couple of weeks I will be hustling my ass off to set it all straight again. I just applied for a waitressing gig at a well-known restaurant that a girl friend of mine bartends at and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I need this.
The Preg-O Dream
One night a few weeks again I had dream that I took a home pregnancy test and it came out positive. It was such a vivid and realistic dream that I remember forcing myself awake to prove it was just a nightmare. (I'm in no way shape or form ready for a baby, hence why I'm diligent about birth control.) What freaked me out as well was knowing who the father was without any doubt or hesitation.
When I woke up the next morning some of the shock from the dream had worn off, and I dismissed it for the most part, but now I find myself going back to it and wondering if there was an underlying meaning to it. I decided to do some dream-interpretation research to see if anything is applicable. Most of us know that dreams cannot always be taken literally, so instead of searching for "positive pregnancy test," in most cases I settled for pregnancy, or, if I was lucky, the term "pregnancy test" did come up.
Dream Moods says "To dream that you are taking a pregnancy test indicates that you are entering a new phase in your life (a new job, relationship, etc.) You feel that you are being put to the test as to whether you are prepared or ready for these changes. Alternatively, this dream may be literal in meaning and address your anxieties/fears of getting pregnant."
The Curious Dreamer returned "A process or project somewhere in your life, responsibility for another person, animal, etc. somehow in your life, responsibility for self or for your inner child, a curiosity about pregnancy."
Dream Dictionary says, "Dreams about being pregnant usually indicate a new project is 'around the corner' in your life. Giving birth is 'the most creative act' and in a dream means something 'new' is brewing. When it arrives in your life you will become more creative if you take it on. It is a good dream to have."
It seems pretty black and white. I've never dreamed about anything related to pregnancy before, literal or figurative, so it's obviously a combination of two things:
- I just turned 29 and as much as I hate to admit it, the biological clock has started slowly, quietly ticking.
- Last week I made the decision to become serious about writing. The urge to create has always been strong within me and I feel that now is the time to start constructing something to show for it.
Birth = Creation
Creation = Birth
When I woke up the next morning some of the shock from the dream had worn off, and I dismissed it for the most part, but now I find myself going back to it and wondering if there was an underlying meaning to it. I decided to do some dream-interpretation research to see if anything is applicable. Most of us know that dreams cannot always be taken literally, so instead of searching for "positive pregnancy test," in most cases I settled for pregnancy, or, if I was lucky, the term "pregnancy test" did come up.
Dream Moods says "To dream that you are taking a pregnancy test indicates that you are entering a new phase in your life (a new job, relationship, etc.) You feel that you are being put to the test as to whether you are prepared or ready for these changes. Alternatively, this dream may be literal in meaning and address your anxieties/fears of getting pregnant."
The Curious Dreamer returned "A process or project somewhere in your life, responsibility for another person, animal, etc. somehow in your life, responsibility for self or for your inner child, a curiosity about pregnancy."
Dream Dictionary says, "Dreams about being pregnant usually indicate a new project is 'around the corner' in your life. Giving birth is 'the most creative act' and in a dream means something 'new' is brewing. When it arrives in your life you will become more creative if you take it on. It is a good dream to have."
It seems pretty black and white. I've never dreamed about anything related to pregnancy before, literal or figurative, so it's obviously a combination of two things:
- I just turned 29 and as much as I hate to admit it, the biological clock has started slowly, quietly ticking.
- Last week I made the decision to become serious about writing. The urge to create has always been strong within me and I feel that now is the time to start constructing something to show for it.
Birth = Creation
Creation = Birth
Did Dewey Beach Save My Sanity?
Out of the past six nights, only one has been spent in my own bed. It was a whirlwind of a week and I'm exhausted.
I took off for the beach Monday evening on a whim and ended up staying until Wednesday. I met up with a girl I've been corresponding with via Twitter and other various blog sites. She is one awesome, lovely woman and we had a great time. I was honored to show her the ins and outs of Dewey Beach, complete with Devils and Grapefruit Crushes.
While I was down there, a few significant things happened that I never expected.
The first was that I realized my bank account had been overdrawn, twice. I'm broke. Again. I was in a bad place about two years ago and I swore to myself it would never happen, but alas, due to my confusion about the changes the PA Department of Unemployment Compensation has made, my claim was all fucked up this summer. (I claim unemployment during the summer months because, well, I don't work as much as I do fall, winter, and spring.) When things like this happen, it messes with my head, bad. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do.
On Tuesday my aunt and I were sitting on the beach when I notice a man & his daughter stop not too far from our beach chairs, drop their towels & boogie boards then take off for the ocean. This man was the Dave Grohl. I didn't believe my eyes at first, but once I heard him speak, I knew it was definitely him. I had the opportunity to shake the man's hand and thank him for all that he has done for rock & roll, and he couldn't have been nicer.
Wednesday I was sitting on the beach again, this time with my uncle, reading Traveling With Pomegranates. As I sat there observing the goings-on around me, reading, smoking cigarettes, watching the ocean and bracing myself against the chilly breeze, it dawned on me - I want to be a writer. I want to write alongside my photography. How to go about it is another story, (I mean, yes, this blog is a start,) but I since I made the acclamation to myself, I now know I want to make it a reality.
Once the clouds became ominous and the lifeguards starting calling people out of the water, we packed it up and headed back to the beach house. When the rain started I decided I might as well make the trek home, so I drove through the storm back to Wilmington, tears spilling out of my eyes here and there wondering what the hell I'm going to do about my bills, worrying whether or not I had enough gas in the car to get me home and if my cell phone would be shut off any time soon.
That night was the only one spent in my own bed, and the stories from the second half of my week are pending my next post. Stay tuned.
I took off for the beach Monday evening on a whim and ended up staying until Wednesday. I met up with a girl I've been corresponding with via Twitter and other various blog sites. She is one awesome, lovely woman and we had a great time. I was honored to show her the ins and outs of Dewey Beach, complete with Devils and Grapefruit Crushes.
While I was down there, a few significant things happened that I never expected.
The first was that I realized my bank account had been overdrawn, twice. I'm broke. Again. I was in a bad place about two years ago and I swore to myself it would never happen, but alas, due to my confusion about the changes the PA Department of Unemployment Compensation has made, my claim was all fucked up this summer. (I claim unemployment during the summer months because, well, I don't work as much as I do fall, winter, and spring.) When things like this happen, it messes with my head, bad. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do.
On Tuesday my aunt and I were sitting on the beach when I notice a man & his daughter stop not too far from our beach chairs, drop their towels & boogie boards then take off for the ocean. This man was the Dave Grohl. I didn't believe my eyes at first, but once I heard him speak, I knew it was definitely him. I had the opportunity to shake the man's hand and thank him for all that he has done for rock & roll, and he couldn't have been nicer.
Wednesday I was sitting on the beach again, this time with my uncle, reading Traveling With Pomegranates. As I sat there observing the goings-on around me, reading, smoking cigarettes, watching the ocean and bracing myself against the chilly breeze, it dawned on me - I want to be a writer. I want to write alongside my photography. How to go about it is another story, (I mean, yes, this blog is a start,) but I since I made the acclamation to myself, I now know I want to make it a reality.
Once the clouds became ominous and the lifeguards starting calling people out of the water, we packed it up and headed back to the beach house. When the rain started I decided I might as well make the trek home, so I drove through the storm back to Wilmington, tears spilling out of my eyes here and there wondering what the hell I'm going to do about my bills, worrying whether or not I had enough gas in the car to get me home and if my cell phone would be shut off any time soon.
That night was the only one spent in my own bed, and the stories from the second half of my week are pending my next post. Stay tuned.
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